


The Ghosts of Picnic Table #29

by elleflies



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Case Fic, Chloe KNOWS, Emotional Intimacy, Emotions, Evangelicalism, F/M, Female Bonding, Female Friendship, Free the curls!, Lucifer is a GoT reject, Mutual Pining, Post-Season/Series 04, Romance, Sexual Content, Sharing a Bed, Transphobia, Urban Fantasy, ghost lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 21:03:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 50,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21143177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elleflies/pseuds/elleflies
Summary: A year after Lucifer’s departure, Chloe struggles to cope and move on. When a murder in Griffith Park spurs her to delve into the inner workings of a local brewery, Chloe thinks it’s just torturous coincidence when references to the Devil keep popping up in her investigation. But then the dreams start.





	1. Chapter 1

The murder victim sprawls across the rotting wood table, blood soaking through his thin t-shirt and his arms clutching at the wound on his chest in a last, futile attempt to stem the bleeding. 

The clearing just off the road makes for an idyllic location even though the foliage looks washed out and crispy as late summer sets in. The surrounding grass and brush have withered away into desiccated versions of their former selves, but that’s not what stands out. What sets the location apart is the picnic table. A massive fallen tree rests on half of the table, its trunk and some branches cut off, but the tree looks as if it has been there for some time based on how the table tilts under its weight. Chloe frowns, not entirely sure why the Parks & Rec department hasn’t cleared it away.

“Hi, Chloe,” Ella says from her crouch beside the victim. “You’re going to dig this case.” 

Chloe raises an eyebrow. “The Lieutenant thought the same. So I’ll bite. Why do you think that?”

Ella bounces to her feet and gestures at the picnic table. “Dude, the table our victim died on is Picnic Table #29!”

The crime scene is a strange sight. The victim lies on the half of the table that doesn’t have the fallen tree on it. He’s an older man who looks to be in his mid-50’s, light brown complexion, thick dark hair that’s going grey at the temples, his body half twisted on his side. He’s wearing what looks like a brewery t-shirt that’s soaked through with blood. His hands rest against his midsection over a gunshot wound. Graffiti on the table peeks out from beneath the body. 

“Should I be familiar with this location?” Chloe asks, perplexed at Ella’s giddiness. 

Ella bounces on her toes. Her swinging ponytail verges on hypnotic. “It’s only one of the most haunted spots in Griffith Park. This is like, peak haunted Los Angeles.” 

“So you think the ghosts shot him?” 

“Maybe?” Ella hedges. She frowns at the victim for a beat before perking up. “Orrrrrr, maybe they influenced someone to shoot him?” 

“Let’s stick with the facts first before we pin the crime on ghosts that haunt a _picnic table_,” Chloe says, wondering if it sounds more ridiculous than ‘my partner, who helped me solve homicides, was Satan.’

Ella gestures to a placard on the ground by a line of upturned dirt and leaves. “We think the victim was standing here. There are trace amounts of blood residue on the leaves; we can’t confirm yet, but it probably belongs to the vic.” She stalks a few paces away towards a second placard on the ground. “Whoever the victim was with was here. Judging by the disturbance on the ground, we think they didn’t stick around long after pulling the trigger. So, our dude was shot and stumbles back to the picnic table.” Ella clutches her midsection and reenacts the victim’s final moments. “We’ll need an autopsy to confirm the exact cause of death, besides, you know, a bullet to the gut. But temperature and lividity puts the time of death between 7 and 10 p.m. last night.” Ella shakes her head and looks down at the victim. “The revenge of Rand and Nancy strikes again.”

“Rand and Nancy?”

“They’re the ghosts. Oh, you’ll love this. I went on this great ghost walk through the park last Halloween.” She smiles brightly. “So, it’s Halloween of 1976, and Rand and Nancy are basically kids, right? They’re both in their early twenties and decide this picnic table is the perfect place to Get. It. On. They’re in the middle of doing the do, when the tree comes down, and boom!” Ella claps her hands so the smack reverberates through the clearing. “Rand and Nancy are toast. Their families scatter their ashes around the table and they’ve haunted this place ever since. Anyone who messes with the table learns real fast that they shouldn’t have. 

“Interesting story,” Chloe says. “Creepy. But I’m pretty sure the ghosts didn’t shoot our victim.” She makes a mental note to track down Maze and quiz her about ghosts. At this point, Chloe has no idea what to believe, or even if ghosts could be a potential avenue of investigation. If only she’d asked Lucifer more questions. After their first disastrous talk about Hell, she hadn’t brought up the subject again, and then it was too late. He returned to Hell, and she’s left figuring out what a post-Lucifer life looks like. 

Until she gets more information, she’s going to treat this investigation as she would any other case. 

Ella responds like she can read Chloe’s mind. “Ghosts are totally a thing,” she says with complete confidence. “Maybe our vic pissed them off, and they decided to break ghost rules.”

“Ghost rules,” Chloe repeats back.

Ella nods. 

“I don’t think the Lieutenant will accept ‘ghosts did it.’ And even if I believed that the spirits of Rand and Nancy inspired someone to kill our victim, that still means we have a perpetrator to find. Do we have an ID on the vic?”

“Darren Birch. We found his wallet in his back pocket; his I.D., credit cards, cash, were all still there.” 

Chloe pulls a pair of nitrile gloves from her back pocket and snaps them on. She takes the wallet off the table and carefully looks through it. “I think that rules out a robbery.” She pulls a folded sheet of lined notebook paper out of the back of the wallet. It’s worn and the folds have the feel of a piece of paper that’s been forgotten about for some time. When Chloe unfolds it, she finds an old to-do list. “Pick up grain,” she reads off. “Purchase new kegs.” 

“Sounds like beer terms,” Ella says. “I wonder if he has any connection to Birch Brewing? I used to go there with some girls from church for their karaoke night. It’s where we found out about the ghost walk. Someone on their staff is super into the occult, and they always have weird stuff like that going on.” 

With a quick Google search on her phone, Chloe confirms that their victim and the owner of Birch Brewing are one and the same.

“Good catch.” She turns the phone, so the screen is facing Ella. Their victim beams back at them from the picture on the About section of the Birch Brewing website. Darren’s arms are around a dark-haired woman who appears to be in her mid-fifties. Vats and various pieces of brewing equipment show in the background behind them. 

“Awww, that super sucks. I liked that place. I haven’t been back in awhile, but they had a good vibe.”

“I don’t think the ghosts did it, Ella. We have a victim whose place of business advertises ghost walks, who died at a supposedly haunted location. He still has his wallet on him, and you think he was arguing with someone. More than likely it was someone he knew. A disagreement that got out of hand; something much more… human.”

“Yeah, but it’s kinda fun to think Rand and Nancy just want to be alone together. It’s very Mary Shelley creepy.” 

“Fun until someone dies,” Chloe replies, thinking back to the night at the Mayan and how she used to think horror movies were fun. 

“Aw, Chloe, come on. Bring it in,” Ella says, enveloping Chloe in a hug and not letting go. She eventually relents, hugging Ella back. “I know things have been hard lately, but you’re doing awesome. You totally have this.” 

“Thanks for the pep talk, Ella, but I think we should probably get back to work.” 

“Yup. Definitely. We’re almost done here anyway.” Ella unwinds her arms from around Chloe. “Just gotta take a few more pictures of the crime scene.”

“Let me know what you find.” Chloe turns to leave and pauses, looking back at Ella. “Are you okay?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Ella replies. “Totes fine. You know me. There’re some lines drawn in the dirt around the picnic table, and I’m still not sure what to make of them, but I love a puzzle.”

Chloe frowns, unconvinced. This isn’t the place to prod Ella into talking. 

The past year, hell, the past two years have been difficult for everyone. Things have settled in the year since Lucifer left, and life has plodded along, but she hadn’t realized how much of a presence he’d been at the precinct until he was gone. 

After his departure, all of her colleagues filtered past her desk, wondering where Lucifer was and when he would be back. She’d even had to dust off her rusty Spanish one night to engage in a halting conversation about his whereabouts with the janitorial staff. 

Ella had taken his departure hard. She’d reconciled her faith after a year of being on shaky ground with the “big guy,” but Lucifer leaving on the heels of Charlie’s kidnapping had dealt yet another blow.

They’d been friends, Ella and Lucifer, closer than Chloe had realized, and with the vacuum he’d left, Chloe had somehow stepped in to fill his shoes. Checking on Ella, going along with some of her crazier ideas, and trying to be there for her. Chloe has never told Ella the truth about what happened with Lucifer, but Ella hasn’t pried and they’ve become the kind of friends that check on each other. 

Ella wanders back toward the crime scene. Chloe watches, concerned, as she prods at upturned leaves and grass on the way. Ella waves one of the forensic techs over, and Chloe leaves as the two fall into a deep conversation.

* * *

Death notifications are a part of the job that Chloe would be content never doing again. 

Precinct policy dictates that two people be present when informing next of kin of their loved one’s passing. A year out, and Chloe still doesn’t have a new partner; oddly, none of her higher ups have even mentioned the lack of one, but it’s times like these that having help on her cases would be useful. 

Birch Brewing isn’t a large establishment. It’s tucked away in an industrial park that smells like tortilla chips from a nearby factory. She parks under a lone scraggly eucalyptus and leaves her car idling so she can enjoy the air conditioning while she waits for Dan to join her. 

Chloe pinches the bridge of her nose and leans back against the headrest. She’d spent the previous night tossing and turning, when she had slept her dreams were strange and disjointed. She vaguely remembers the sound of knocking, as if someone was trying to get into her room. There was a point where she woke up and looked around, convinced someone was just outside of her bedroom door. When she stumbled her way out of bed and opened it, no one was there, the house was silent and still. No knocking. No stranger trying to get in. She’s left feeling lethargic and groggy. 

It’s not the way she likes to start an investigation. She owes it to the victim to not let her personal issues get in the way. 

Chloe breathes deep, conscious of the way she inhales and exhales. The few times she’d tried yoga, she hadn’t entirely enjoyed the experience, but the mindfulness around breathing was worth it. It’s been a handy tool for calming herself when her partner was doing something inexplicable or embarrassing, and she’s found it even more useful now that she’s working solo and needs to recenter herself. 

Dan pulls up looking just as tired as she feels—a look he’s worn for awhile now. ‘Ever since Charlotte,’ Chloe thinks, but now that his exhaustion isn’t tempered by anger and rage, his weariness isn’t as easily masked. 

He follows her into the brewery without saying a word. As close as she and Ella have become, things are still strained with Dan. She’s not sure how to reach him, or if she even should. 

The brewery itself has a lived-in look that Chloe immediately finds appealing. A small stage at the back hosts a drum kit and guitars that look like they’re ready to be picked up and played at any moment. Small tables with mismatched chairs dot the tasting room, and posters advertising upcoming events line the walls, with the occasional band sticker peeking out from the wall underneath. 

The poster featuring a goat and a prominent pentagram catch her eye for a moment, but with the sounds of equipment and people filtering in from the next room, she’s distracted before she can look at it closer. A clang rings out as something is dropped, followed by a deep laugh. The smell of hops permeates the air. 

She reminds herself that she isn’t here to soak up the atmosphere. There’s a job to do. 

Anne Birch is immediately obvious from her photo on the Birch Brewing website that Chloe had pulled up at the crime scene. She’s a striking woman in her mid-fifties, her dark hair shot through with gray, and she has the tanned look of someone who’s lived in Southern California for some time. 

She’s leaning over the bar, laughing with two women around her age, and Chloe swallows the dread that wants to bubble up her throat. She’s been in the position of hearing news like this. She knows how it will turn lives upside down and destroy any semblance of normality. Anne is a suspect—everyone is a suspect until Chloe has more information—but she’s also innocent until proven guilty.

Chloe Decker knows what it feels like to lose a loved one.

Which is why, even when Lucifer pushed, she always refused to step out of bounds during a death notification. 

Anne Birch looks up from her customers and smiles as Chloe and Dan walk through the door. 

Thankfully, there’s a small office on the premises they can use. Anne sits in the chair by the computer as Chloe and Dan shift books and papers off of folding chairs. 

Chloe delivers the news, but it’s Dan who does the comforting. 

Dan has always had a strange knack for this part of the job. He’s direct, he’s sympathetic, and he’s a solid and dependable shoulder to cry on.

He kneels in front of the shattered woman, making soothing noises and letting her cry. Anne holds his hands and doesn’t let go.

Chloe stays still and silent. She and Dan have worked together long enough that it’s easy to fall back into a routine. Dan breaking the news, and Chloe handling the followup. She’s found that many of the people she questions about their loved one's death take it easier if it’s a woman asking the questions. 

“Anne,” Chloe says, leaning forward to rest her arms across her knees. The sobbing has abated some and morphed into quivering hiccups. Chloe quashes the urge to bundle the poor woman into bed. “I am so very sorry for your loss, but I need to ask you some questions. We want to find whoever did this and make sure they’re held accountable.”

Anne nods and takes a deep, watery breath. Dan squeezes her hands. 

“Do you know why Darren was in Griffith Park yesterday around 7 p.m.?”

“I don’t…” Anne’s voice cracks and wavers. She starts again. “I thought he was out drumming with his friends for most of the night.” She sniffs and tries to stifle a sob. “I was working at the brewery last night until it closed. He was meeting up with some friends for band practice.” She lets go of Dan’s hand to wipe at the tears streaming down her face. “I knew something was wrong. Darren didn’t come home last night. Sometimes, he’ll sleep at the brewery if he has band practice after it closes, but he wasn’t here this morning, and I just knew. I _knew_ something was wrong, but I thought, ‘Anne, don’t be a worrywart; there’s a good explanation.’ And there was. He’s gone! Oh, God, he’s gone.” 

“Anne,” Chloe says, trying to refocus her attention. “Can you think of any recent arguments Darren had, or if there was someone who might have held a grudge against him?”

“Our old business partner, maybe? We haven’t spoken with him in a year, but he and Darren always rubbed each other the wrong way.” Anne pauses. “Darren had a tense conversation with the owners of Toltec Tap a few weeks ago, but I don’t think it was anything worth killing him over. He’s a good man. Everyone loves him. I love him. How could this happen… I can’t.”

“Is there anything else you can think of? Anything that stood out the past few days? A deviation in schedule? Issues at the brewery?”

“He and Bobby had a few arguments.” 

“And Bobby is?” 

“My nephew. Well, my nephew-in-law.” She hiccups. “Darren’s sister’s son. He schedules the bands and events. He and my sister-in-law don’t get along, so he moved in with us.”

“You said Darren and Bobby argued,” Chloe points out. 

“About a scheduling issue. Darren wanted to schedule a themed karaoke night; Bobby wanted to schedule a talk about urban legends.” Anne clutches at Dan’s hands. “Bobby loves the occult. Anything supernatural. Darren helped him set up a business that runs ghost walks through Griffith Park.”

“Do you know where Bobby is now?”

“At his girlfriend’s place; at least, that’s where he is most of the time. He’s not scheduled to come in until the evening.” 

Anne’s face screws up as tears stream down her cheeks. “I’ll need to tell him about his uncle. Oh, God, there’s so much.”

“Anne,” Dan says gently, “that’s for later, but for now, is there someone I can call to take you home? Someone who will stay with you?”

Anne manages to stutter out the name and number for her sister, and Chloe is happy to end the interview now that she has solid leads to follow. She and Dan sit in the small office, letting Anne cry and talk until her sister pulls up. Chloe slips her business card into Anne’s hand with a promise to keep her informed as the investigation proceeds. 

By the time the car bearing Anne pulls away, Dan has rounded up the three employees working on the brewing side. Chloe has her notepad at the ready, and it’s back into the grind of interviewing employees, taking statements, getting alibis, and ensuring that they’ve covered all the bases. 

When Chloe and Dan finish, Chloe has a list of people she needs to track down. She runs her pen over the names, Bobby Johnson being at the top of her suspect list. 

She watches from the bar as the head brewer shuts down the tasting room. 

Dan slides onto the stool next to her, runs his hands through his hair, and sighs. “I hate doing this. It reminds me of finding out about Charlotte.”

Chloe blows out a harsh breath. “I barely remember who told me about my dad. I’ve blanked most of it out. I remember who supported us afterwards though. That’s what’s important.” She twists on her seat and looks at her ex-husband. “Thank you, Dan, I know next of kin notifications are hard, especially with everything... but I’m glad you came.” 

“It’s my job. And having found out that someone I care about was killed, well, it’s a club I never wanted to join,” he replies, fiddling with a few Birch Brewing coasters. “Seeing Linda has helped. I thought, after she went into labor, that maybe I should find a different therapist. I mean, she’s a friend. I drove her to the hospital, but she knew Charlotte, and I don’t have to explain the whole messed up dynamic I had going on with Lucifer. And Maze.” He trails off, and the sounds of the head brewer making calls and telling employees not to come in filters through the silence. 

Chloe swallows and says, “It gets better. It never goes away, but the pain dulls.” She’s sure Dan will think she’s talking about her dad, but the face that comes to mind is Lucifer’s, and she’s not sure, in that moment, if it will get better. She still hurts. She still feels like she’s missing a limb. She’ll keep telling herself that things will improve; they’re bound to if she believes it firmly enough.

Dan nods, seemingly unconvinced, and heads towards the door. 

Chloe props her chin on her hand, looks over her notes, and sighs.

* * *

Toltec Tap is only a few blocks away from Birch Brewing, and Chloe regrets walking through the door as soon as she steps foot inside. 

The entire bar is Mesoamerican themed. Not quite the same look as the Mayan, but close enough that it makes her feel tense, as if she needs to keep looking over her shoulder for wayward demons.

Stylized faces stare down from the walls, and Chloe tries hard to hide her grimace. Memories well up in her mind of possessed dead bodies and Lucifer wielding his image and his power. 

He would have so many scathing things to say about this place. Hell, she’s got scathing things to say, based on decor alone. Even if the place is tastefully done… for a brewery. 

Chloe wanders through the taproom, following the sound of voices into the brewery itself. The brewing equipment is new and shiny and lacks the secondhand feel of Birch Brewing. 

She finds the employees standing over a keg arguing. 

“Excuse me,” Chloe says, pitching her voice to carry over the argument. 

A lanky bald man in a flannel shirt looks up and jogs over. “Oh, sorry, didn’t hear you come in. If you want to take a seat at the bar, I’ll be right out to take your order.”

Chloe shakes her head and pulls out her badge. “Detective Decker, LAPD. I’m investigating a recent homicide and need to speak to the owner.”

The man blinks at her. “That’s me. Um, Paul Larsen. I’m the owner. Homicide?”

“I have some questions for you regarding the murder of Darren Birch.” 

Paul’s face pales, and his body slumps for a brief moment. “Darren is dead?” he gasps out. “This isn’t a joke? He’s actually…” 

Chloe nods and pulls out her notepad. “Can you account for your whereabouts yesterday evening between 7 and 10 p.m.?”

“At work,” Paul says. “I was working from home until 8. I came in late and helped close last night.” 

“Can anyone verify your whereabouts?” 

Paul cringes. “My roommate. Maybe? I think he came home from work while I was still at the apartment. I waved at him when he came in, but I don’t remember what time that was.”

“Anne Birch said that tensions between your two breweries have been running high lately. Can you tell me what that’s been about?”

Paul is practically shaking, and he’s taken to picking at his fingers. “It’s stupid beer stuff mainly. We released a saison a few months back, and Birch Brewing came out with a similar one shortly after. It just felt like… what are the odds? Plus, Birch Brewing has a great music lineup. They do themed nights and have food trucks that show up. It’s been popular for them, drives business and all that. Darren and Anne’s nephew took over the scheduling and has been hosting fewer music nights and more—” He grimaces, searching for the right word. “—lectures and academic discussions. We saw an opportunity, so we started putting on more live music events ourselves, especially on nights when he’s got his weird shit going. We’re just down the road from each other, so Darren saw it as us poaching his customers. He wasn’t too happy with the recent scheduling changes. But it wasn’t like that. Some of the musicians asked me to start it up. We’re just giving them a spot if Birch Brewing won’t.”

“What was your relationship with Darren like before you started your own music nights?” 

“Strained,” Paul says with a nervous laugh. “We didn’t get off on the right foot. We opened shortly after they did, and at the time, they had a business partner who was, well, kind of a dick. He stormed over here after we opened and chewed us out. I don’t even remember about what. I think they bought him out shortly after that.” 

“Anything else you can think of?” 

Paul squints and stuffs his hands in his pockets. He shifts his weight from one foot to another. “We got bought out,” he finally says. “They didn’t. Darren was not into corporations telling him what to do. But with the industry the way it is now… you can’t get anywhere as a craft brewer unless you’ve got money behind you. The market is saturated, and distribution is rough.” He shrugs, a what-can-you-do expression on his face. “Darren was an old hippie. No way was he going to be bought out. Stick it to the man and all that.”

Chloe nods and gestures over to his colleagues. “Did anyone else here have interactions with Darren?”

“My head brewer, Joe, and his head brewer hate each other. Joe’s a decent guy, but the rivalry they have going.” Paul blows out a breath and looks nervous. “Joe was here last night.” 

“I’d like to talk to your employees,” Chloe says. “Joe in particular.” 

Paul laughs, a nervous staccato sound. “I’ll go round them up.” He practically bolts for the group of men that have been watching their interaction in silence. 

Chloe rolls her head, trying to shake away the exhaustion that’s been plaguing her. She has a whole list of reasons she misses Lucifer, and it is a physical list. She’d gotten tipsy one night and had spent a few hours at her computer listing everything she missed. His desire mojo hadn’t even made the list, but in times like this she misses it.

* * *

Chloe finishes the day at the precinct, zoning out at her desk. She’s listed the people she still has to track down and talk to. Forensics will take time to come back, so there’s no rush on that front. As always, there’s paperwork that needs completing and emails that need to be sent. She squints at the file in front of her until it’s only little gray squiggles against a white background. Her pen hovers over the paper as her vision continues to blur. She sits there, poised and unmoving. 

Clattering from the janitorial staff rouses Chloe from her stupor. She blinks. She looks at the time and blinks again.

She gathers her things and goes home, feeling like a robot and barely remembering the drive. Trixie is with Dan, so the apartment is dark and empty when she walks in. She kicks off her boots and throws herself across the couch, planting her face firmly into a pillow for a moment before rolling partially upright so she’s slouched into the corner. She sighs, leans her head back, and tells herself she’ll rest her eyes only for a moment before she gets ready for bed.

The next time she opens them, Lucifer is sitting next to her. 

He’s got an arm propped against the back of the couch and is leaning his head into his hand, watching her. 

Chloe scrambles upright, her heart racing, terror streaking through her veins at his unexpected appearance on her couch.

Lucifer smirks. “Be not afraid,” he says with a roll of his eyes. 

“What… what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be…”

“In Hell?” 

Chloe nods. 

“I haven’t left,” he says and unfolds himself from the couch. He approaches her like she’s a wild animal that might bite. “Darling,” he says, his accent rolling over her, and Chloe goes to him, relaxing against his chest as he enfolds her in his arms. 

She rubs her cheek against the rough embroidery covering his shirt and plucks at the hem. “What on earth are you wearing?” she mumbles against him. 

“I feel like that should be my line.” He says. “Much to my dismay, it’s not Armani, but if you don’t like it, I’ll happily go au naturel for you.”

Lucifer steps out of her arms, and Chloe goggles at him as he spins for her. He’s wearing a black shirt that looks more like a tunic than anything else she’s seen him in. It’s elaborately embroidered in a black silk thread that gives the design a slight sheen as he moves. He’s wearing knee high leather boots and what looks like leather pants with a slight scale pattern. 

Chloe giggles. 

“I’ll have you know,” Lucifer says with an affronted air, “this is the height of fashion in hell.”

“You look like a Game of Thrones escapee.” 

Lucifer huffs, his demeanor put-upon. 

“You’re one to talk. I mean, look at you, Detective. How does a woman who lives in Los Angeles of all places own so many atrocious sweaters?”

“Hey,” she says, not taking offense, “sweaters are comfortable. And the AC is arctic in the precinct.”

He grumbles something under his breath about fashion. Chloe ignores him and steps back into his space, folding herself into his arms. His hands undo the messy knot of her hair. There’s no cascade of hair down her back, just tangles and a lump from where it was in the rubber band too long. Lucifer’s hand smooths over her head and down her messy hair, stroking and petting.

Chloe nuzzles closer, slipping her hands under his tunic and up the smooth skin of his back. He’s practically holding her up as they sway together. 

She pulls away so she can look up at him. He seems tired, and his dark eyes are sad. Chloe runs a hand over his stubble. “I worry about you. All the time. I’ve missed you, and… I want you back. Please stay. Please say you’re staying.”

“My darling, I’m not even here.” He evaporates under her hands. Ash spills through her fingers, and she watches in horror as it pours onto the floor. 

Chloe blinks herself awake and swipes a hand over bleary eyes. Her neck aches from the strange way she slept, and she’s still wearing her clothes from yesterday. She pulls her phone out from under her and groans at the time. 4 in the morning. 

She rolls off the couch and drags herself to bed, attempting to get another hour in before she needs to start the day. 

Sleep doesn’t come. 

She keeps feeling Lucifer under her hands every time she closes her eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

The dream wriggles into her brain and makes itself at home. Every time she closes her eyes, Lucifer’s smile wells up in her mind. And the ash. All she can see is ash, ash between her fingers, ash on her floor, and worst of all, his face crumbling to ash before her. 

Chloe tosses and turns, giving up on sleep an hour before her alarm goes off. She drags herself out of bed and goes through the motions of getting ready for work: shower, clothes, hair, coffee. Early morning light slants into her kitchen as she sits at the counter, the news pulled up on her phone as she stares blankly at her slowly cooling coffee. Guilt claws at her throat. He’s in hell, and it’s all she can think about. His life is torture, demons, and ash, and she’s responsible.

The walls constrict around her. 

All she can taste is ash. It coats her tongue. 

She leans her head against the cool granite counter and struggles to swallow. She breathes in through her nose, out through her mouth, until the walls relent and she doesn’t feel like she’s about to throw up. 

Her phone buzzes by her elbow. Chloe blinks, her sluggish brain telling her the text might be important. She rights herself to find a picture of Charlie with yogurt smeared all over his face, courtesy of Linda. 

She gulps. Grabs her phone, keys, and purse and heads out the door.

* * *

Amenadiel opens the door, a wriggling Charlie in his arms. 

“Hi!” Charlie says brightly, waving a pudgy hand. 

“Oh, look at you,” Chloe says, taking the soon to be one-year-old from Amenadiel and maneuvering the giggling baby for optimal raspberry blowing against his belly.

Charlie roars with delight. 

“I could just eat you right up,” she tells the baby, pretending to eat his little fingers. 

She smiles up at Amenadiel, who’s watching the scene with his head cocked.

“Linda does the same thing. I still don’t understand why humans pretend to eat their own young,” Amenadiel says. 

“Because he’s just so cute,” Chloe says toward Charlie, who giggles and tries to slap at her face. “Has Linda left yet?” 

Amenadiel steps back into the house, and Chloe follows him in, adjusting Charlie so he’s riding her hip. She bounces him all the way back to Linda in the master bedroom. 

Linda’s house is beautiful, and Chloe stamps down on the twinge of jealousy that threatens to rear up. The master bedroom is large with big windows and a large master bed. The only bed she’s seen that’s larger is the one in Lucifer’s penthouse. The bed is a disaster, clothes tossed across it, and Chloe spies a stuffed toy peeking out from under the unmade covers. Linda sits at her vanity, fiddling with a necklace as she gets ready for work. 

“I know, buddy,” Chloe says when Charlie holds his arms out and babbles for Linda. “There’s no one like Mom.” She leans closer to the baby and stage whispers, “I think your mom is pretty great too,” before passing him over. 

Charlie relaxes into Linda, his head resting on her shoulder. His thumb finds its way into his mouth as he pats his mom on the back while she pats his. 

“How did he get so big?” Chloe says, sitting down on the edge of the bed. She smiles at the happiness evident on Linda’s face. “He was just a little squish a few months ago.” 

“He’ll be a year in a month. How did that happen? Where did the time go?”

“It goes fast. One day, they’re a baby, and then you turn around and they’re sassing back at you over doing the dishes.”

Linda blows out a breath and pulls Charlie closer. “Thankfully, I’ve got some time. It doesn’t hurt that my support network is demonically excellent, and Amenadiel is a fantastic stay-at-home dad.” 

“Yes,” Chloe says, batting her eyes at Linda, “he’s such an _angel_.”

Linda groans and buries her head against Charlie. 

“So how is mom life now that you’re approaching a year?” Chloe asks. 

Linda sits on the bed and bounces Charlie on her lap. “Amazing, wonderful, tiring, infuriating. There were a few nights I’ve wanted to pluck Amenadiel.”

Chloe laughs. “I threw a baby bottle at Dan’s head one night. Trixie wouldn’t stop crying, and he kept trying to help, and Dan meant well, but it made me feel like a failure. So I threw a bottle at him, locked myself in the bedroom, and cried.” 

“I’ve counseled patients for years who have issues with their parents or with their kids. Feelings of failure are normal and to be expected. I look at Charlie, and for the first time I truly understand not wanting to fail another person, even though it’s inevitable. I’m human, I’ll fail, but I’ll also do the best I can.” She reaches for Chloe’s hand and squeezes. “All we have to be is the best parent we can be for our kids. And that’s different for everyone. There is no perfect.”

“How do you always know the right thing to say?” 

“It’s part of my therapist superpowers. You get them when you get licensed.” Linda adjusts Charlie and bounces him on her knee. “Not that it ever worked with Lucifer. I can’t divulge details, but he always took things the wrong way. He’d walk out of therapy with some grand idea, and I’d be sitting there wondering what the hell happened.” 

Chloe laughs. “He used to show up at a crime scenes brimming with bad ideas. It makes sense looking back, now that I know he wasn’t human, but at the time, I wanted to throttle him.” 

Linda nods knowingly. “It took me awhile to come to terms with the revelation that my friend and patient, The Devil, can be a dumbass.” 

Chloe runs her fingers over the bedspread, smoothing it out. “I dreamt about him last night.” 

“Oh?” Linda cocks her head and readjusts Charlie. “I wondered what’s bothering you.”

“That obvious?”

Linda gives her a look.

Chloe’s laugh is sharp and short. “It wasn’t much of anything, really. He was on my couch, fresh out of Hell, and we were just… easy with each other. It was like he’d never left. Except for the ren faire outfit he was wearing.” 

“I am going to need details on the clothes. Leave nothing out. It’s important. For therapist reasons.” Linda says with a wink. 

Chloe looks around at the clothes scattered across her bed and trailing off towards the closet and raises an eyebrow. “Looking for inspiration?”

Linda laughs. “Seriously, Chloe, we’re coming up on a year since Lucifer left; I’d be surprised if it wasn’t affecting you in some way. Anniversaries have a way of reopening old wounds and reminding us of what we’ve lost.” Charlie squeals from her lap. “Or gained. I wouldn’t have made it through having a baby at the age of fifty if it wasn’t for my support group. Amenadiel and Maze are my rocks. Dan drove me to the hospital. And you, you’ve been over here checking on us since Charlie arrived, even when you’ve been hurting too. It’s okay to miss Lucifer, Chloe. Just remember: you have a support group, a _family_, who’s here for you.”

Chloe sniffs and ducks her head, not wanting to admit she’s close to tears. “Thank you, Linda. I… That dream… it has me all turned around. I was so sure he was there. And it’s stupid. It was a stupid dream, and he turned to ash in my hands, and I was so… stunned, because it felt so real.”

“If it feels real to you, that’s all that matters. Dreams can be a way of working through events and issues that we may find stressful or upsetting. It’s not uncommon to dream of the ones we’ve lost.”

Chloe’s smile is more watery than she would like to admit. “You know, Linda, you shouldn’t be providing therapy for your friends. You don’t need to be dealing with my problems on top of everything else right now.”

“Nonsense,” Linda says. “In normal circumstances, I’d provide recommendations for therapists you aren’t friends with, but honestly, what therapist would believe you if you wanted to work through your issues about the Devil? I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

“I don’t know how I manage.” 

“Speaking of family. I’m thinking we should do a tribe night sometime soon. You, me, Maze, and Ella. We could all use a break.

“And drink,” Chloe adds. 

Charlie laughs at Linda. “Yes please,” she says vehemently as she sits in her beautiful appointed master bedroom surrounded by a veritable whirlwind of clothes and baby toys.

* * *

Chloe’s phone devours her morning. Her earbuds feel permanently embedded in her ears and they’re starting to ache as she gets further into the day. She leaves more voicemails than she would like. Not many people answer the phone, especially if it’s a strange number. Which adds more to her workload. 

On the side, she tries tracking down Bobby Johnson. An email had come in from the head brewer late last night with contact information and schedules for the staff at Birch Brewing, and so far she’s struck out on getting Bobby to respond. The detective in her finds his avoidance suspect, but she reminds herself that different people handle grief in their own ways, and as long as she can pin him down for an interview soon, he deserves the benefit of the doubt. 

She spends her time on hold eyeballing the empty chair next to her desk. If Lucifer were here, he’d be flitting around the precinct, charming her coworkers and fulfilling his role of social butterfly, but always coming back to her desk. 

He hadn’t cared what people thought about him, but he also waged a charm campaign that had erased Palmetto from the collective consciousness of the Precinct. 

The old detectives had either retired or transferred, and Chloe had never thought to question why. The atmosphere at the precinct had lightened and the constant scrutiny she used to be under vanished. It had seemed like good luck when they’d moved on. 

She knows better now. It’s the Devil’s own luck, and he’s used it for her, with no expectations she’d notice. She’s still struck with the weight of his hidden support on a daily basis. He was her partner and had her back, even when she didn’t realize it. 

There’s so much she wants to ask him. 

Knowing now who he is, where he’s from. So much makes more sense, and her heart feels like it’s clamped in a vise whenever she thinks about it, thinks about where he is, and how her role in his life led him there. 

She’s spent the past year going back and imagining the what ifs. What if she hadn’t gone to Europe, what if she’d gone to a different spiritual advisor? 

The demons would have been none the wiser. Lucifer would still be in Los Angeles. He’d still be at Lux playing sets on his piano. He’d still be her partner. 

Chloe leans against her desk and looks out at her colleagues. The precinct hums along like normal. There’s the ever-present background noise of people talking, chairs scraping against the floor, a voice raised in anger over being brought in. One of the Vice detectives laughs with a beat cop. Dan leans back in his chair, staring intently at his computer screen. Ella has earbuds in and bops along in the forensics lab, passing tools back and forth with another forensics tech. 

Chloe can’t stand it. Can’t stand that it’s normal. That life went on. 

She stands up, grabs her things, and marches out. She’s no closer to a motive or a murder weapon and sitting around the precinct is doing her no good.

* * *

Chloe ends up at Birch Brewing, somewhat surprised to see it open after the murder of its owner.

Chloe plays with a coaster, flipping it and spinning it, content to sit and wait as the bartender rehashes what few details there are of Darren’s murder to a customer at the other end of the bar. 

The bartender, a short woman with cropped blonde hair, eventually drifts her way. “What can I get you?” 

“Detective Decker, LAPD. I’m investigating the murder of Darren Birch, and I’d like to ask some questions when you have a moment.”

“Uh, sure,” the bartender who’s name tag says ‘Hi I’m Claire!’ shoots a glance at the regular she’d just been talking to. “Let me just close out Bill’s tab.”

Chloe scans the menu behind the bar, idly thinking that it had been ages since she’d had a beer. Her drinking habits over the past few years have been eclectic at best. Around Lucifer she was used to top shelf whiskey and high end cocktails. At home, her liquor cabinet consisted of cheap red wines from Target that she’d impulse purchased.

“I don’t know how much I can help,” Claire says once she’s done with the customer. 

“Claire McCallister,” Chloe says, looking at her notes. “The head brewer sent over the employee schedules, and it looks like you were working the night before Darren was murdered. What can you tell me about that night?” 

“It was open mic night,” Claire says, sounding morose. “We always draw a crowd. Darren sometimes helped run the soundboard, or he would fill in on bass if someone needed backup. He always enjoyed performing.” 

“Did anything unusual stand out about his behavior that night or in the days before? Anyone he may have argued with?”

Claire frowns, scrunching her face up and running a hand through her blonde hair. “He wasn’t getting along with Bobby the last few months. They were arguing a few nights ago.”

“What were they arguing about?”

Claire sighs and half-heartedly wipes at the bar with a rag. “The usual. Bobby is in charge of scheduling. He organizes the events and gets bands in. He’d been working on a series of lectures for the brewery, and Darren wasn’t happy because Bobby had gotten back in contact with his mom. She was blowing up Darren’s phone that night.”

Chloe raises an eyebrow. “This woman is Darren’s sister?” 

Claire nods. 

“Do you know why she was so upset with her brother?” 

“Not really. I tried to stay out of it.” 

“And what about Bobby? You’d mentioned he’d been arguing with his uncle?”

“Darren… worried about Bobby. He was always pushing him to do more with himself. He indulged him at the brewery, especially with the lectures, but I know he was getting annoyed.” 

“What kind of lectures was Bobby scheduling?” 

Claire snorts. “Bobby’s into the supernatural: ghosts, demons, urban legends. He’s even skipped out on some of his shifts to break into abandoned places with his ghost-hunting gear. He’s been scheduling fewer music nights and more—” Claire searches for the right description. “—‘academic talks about the occult.’”

“And Darren didn’t like what Bobby was organizing?”

“They drew a crowd, so he wasn’t… unhappy. People still buy beer, but it’s a different vibe than what Darren preferred. Darren was all about the music.”

“When will Bobby be around? I’d like to talk to him.”

“He’ll be in closer to 5. We’re having one of his events tonight.” Claire rolls her eyes and points to a poster on the wall that showcases a pentagram overlaid with a goat statue. The text reads: ‘The Archetype of the Devil.’ 

Chloe raises her eyebrows, and Claire laughs at the expression on her face. “Some academic from UCLA that Bobby met at one of his occult meetups. I mean, they’re not terrible for business. It’s actually kind of nice, because I can hear what people want to order.” Her face falls. “It won’t be the same, though. Darren used to camp out behind the bar with me when we had events like this. They’re ridiculous talks people take way too seriously. He and I would laugh our way through them. It’s… I’ll miss him.” 

Claire turns back to the taps on the back wall and takes her time fiddling with the spouts before finally pouring a beer. She turns back around, her eyes suspiciously red, and slides a taster in front of Chloe. 

“On the house,” Claire says. 

“Oh, I can’t.” Chloe tells her. “I’m working.” 

Claire sweeps the beer off the counter and disposes of it. “Right, sorry, I’ll grab you a water.” She returns with a glass of water in hand and slides it over to Chloe. “We had a meeting this morning with the head brewer and talked about closing the brewery for a few days.” She straightens a stack of coasters. “There are too many breweries in the area and all the little guys are scraping by so we can’t afford to close.” She swallows. “Darren loved the music and the community he and Anne built. It would have crushed him to see something happen to this place.” 

“With Darren gone, what’s Bobby’s role going to be?” 

“In charge of the place. Anne isn’t going to be up for it anytime soon. She’s pretty wrecked.”

Claire pauses, looking stricken. “Bobby and I dated for a few months. After we broke up, I fell on some hard times, and Anne and Darren were nice enough to let me live in their spare bedroom until I was back on my feet. They’ve done so much for me. The least I can do is run the bar until Anne figures out what she wants to do. As for Bobby, the music might take a back seat for a while.”

“But the occult talks will go on?”

“Detective Decker, that man will go to his grave clutching his ghost-hunting equipment.” 

“Thank you for your time, Claire. I hope you don’t mind if I hang out here and wait for Bobby.” 

“Not a problem, Detective. You’ll have better luck with him after the talk ends. He can be single minded beforehand.”

Chloe sits back and enjoys the atmosphere as more customers trickle in.

A text from Maze drags her away from people watching. The message is nothing exciting, just a heads up that Maze has picked Trixie up from day camp and that the two will hang out until Dan arrives to collect her. 

Chloe stares at the screen and ponders the weirdness of her life. An actual demon picks Trixie up from school on a regular basis, and the idea doesn’t even faze her anymore. 

Truth be told, she misses Maze. They haven’t talked much since the demon moved out, and when they do run into each other, Maze is bringing in a bounty or looming over Charlie and glaring at whoever is holding him. Chloe knows that a big part of the blame for the gulf between them lies with her. One of the few conversations they’d had over the past year consisted of Chloe telling Maze that she didn’t need to babysit Trixie, that she could find other accommodations. Maze had dug her heels in and that was that.

She sips her water and takes a chance. She shoots off a quick message letting Maze know that she’s spending the evening at a brewery, and if Maze doesn’t have anything going on, it might be fun to have company. 

Bobby Johnson arrives shortly before 5. His dark brown hair sticks up in every direction and there are bags under his bleary eyes. He heads straight for the sound system, a laptop covered in stickers clutched in his hands, and spends the next thirty minutes hooking up the computer to a projector, testing the sound system, and taking down the drum kit and other instruments that were propped up on the stage. He’s focused and intent, and with the talk due to begin, she’d be pressed for time if she tried to question him now. 

“Decker,” Maze announces from the entrance. 

Chloe jumps up from her seat as Maze saunters towards her. “Maze. You came!”

“Linda says I’ve been hovering too much. That it would be good for me to get out and socialize.”

“Aren’t you helping with Lux on your off nights?”

Maze snorts. “Please, that place runs itself. Patrick’s been handling it for years. I stop by, make sure the party is in full swing, look the books over, terrorize any new hires, and leave.” She takes a seat next to Chloe and snags a tasting menu. “So who are we scoping out? I’m assuming you’re not here for fun.”

Chloe sighs. “I have fun.”

Maze rolls her eyes. 

“Fine. Bobby Johnson. Victim’s nephew.” Chloe nods in the direction of the soundboard “They got into an argument a few days ago. I haven’t spoken with him yet—wanted to observe before approaching.” 

“You need me to threaten him, Decker? Get him talking for you?” Maze pulls out a karambit and twirls it around her finger, directing a smile towards the oblivious Bobby. He’s typing away at his computer while a dark-haired woman leans over his shoulder and frowns at the screen. 

“Mainly, I wanted to hang out. It’s been well over a year, and we haven’t spoken much since… Well... Plus, I thought you might get a laugh out of the event they’re putting on tonight.” She points at the posters. 

Maze laughs and knocks her shoulder into Chloe’s. “Glad you lightened up. It’s much more fun when you’re in the know.”

Claire swings by to get Maze’s order. Chloe rolls her eyes as Maze leans against the bar in a way that pushes up her breasts before quizzing Claire on the beer selections. Even Chloe can’t hold it against Claire for not being able to drag her eyes away from Maze’s cleavage. 

“Soul Sacrifice,” Maze says after a long pause. 

The older heavy set man who was nursing a pint to the right of Chloe, leans around her to gape at Maze. “You sure you want to drink that, darlin’? That thing has ghost peppers in it. Almost knocked the head brewer on his ass when they opened the keg.”

“Yum,” Maze says, licking her lips extravagantly as Claire pours a small taster’s worth.

“Oh, come on, don’t hold out on me. Gimme a whole pint,” Maze says with a growl.

Claire shrugs and fills a pint. “It’s your funeral.”

Maze takes a big swallow as Chloe, Claire, and the regular who advised against it, look on in curiosity and horror. 

“Oh, this is some good shit,” Maze purrs happily, and gulps half the pint in one go. 

The regular sitting next to Chloe sputters, and Claire’s eyes widen. “That… We had a college student run out of here yesterday crying after he tried to drink more than a taster’s worth.”

Maze finishes the rest of the pint with a smile.

Chloe laughs. It is more entertaining to be in the loop.

* * *

A group of college students wedges themselves next to Chloe and Maze. Bill the regular squeezes over enough that he and Chloe have their shoulders plastered together. With space at a premium, even Claire stops going out from behind the bar to take orders. There’s a flurry of activity as beer is poured and dispensed. The house lights dim, and a projector screen lights up. 

Bobby takes the stage to scattered clapping. He ducks his head, and his blush is visible from across the room. A table at the back explodes with whistling and stomping feet as he wrestles the mic out of the stand. He gives a small wave at their exuberance. 

“Thank you all for coming and supporting Birch Brewing,” he says, the bravado evident in his voice. “We’ve suffered a recent loss in the family. It’s been crushing, but as a family business and small brewery, we didn’t want to be alone when we could be here with all of you.” 

Bobby pauses, though the smile on his face looks plastered on. Maze leans over and whispers, “Totally guilty,” in Chloe’s ear. 

Chloe whispers back, “We don’t know that yet, and I haven’t even told you the details.”

“Tonight is a night to spend with good company and good beer as we delve deeper into our understanding of the darkness that sometimes takes hold in this world.” He sniffs, ducking his head and looking at his shoes. 

He pulls himself together, fiddles with the mic and booms out, “Welcome to ‘The Archetype of the Devil.’ Our guest speaker is Doctor Rebekah Ross. She’s a professor of World Arts and Cultures, and a member of the faculty advisory committee at the UCLA Center for the Study of Religion. She’ll be guiding us through an exploration of the Prince of Lies. Prepare yourselves to stare evil in the face as we take a look at the original bad boy himself.” 

The crowd claps, and the brunette woman that Chloe last saw leaning over Bobby’s shoulder bounces to the stage. She grabs the microphone, smiling out at the crowd. She’s pulled her curly hair back into a bun and is dressed in what Chloe would consider business casual attire, but with a pair of sparkly flats in place of heels. 

“How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning! How art thou cut down to the ground, which didst weaken the nations,” Doctor Ross says into the microphone, lowering the pitch of her voice so the verse comes out low and serious.

“Satan, Lucifer, Old Scratch, Beelzebub, The King of Hell, Prince of Lies, Abaddon, The Adversary, Mephistopheles, Lord of the Flies, Father of Lies, Moloch, Iblīs, Al-Shaitan. The Devil goes by many names. He’s at the crossroads, ready to make a deal; he sits on our shoulders whispering temptation into unwary ears, eager to lead people astray.” Slides appear behind her, rotating through various historical and literary depictions of the devil. A few of which are familiar from Chloe’s time in Rome. 

Maze shoulder bumps her own, and Maze’s breath is soft against her ear. “That’s wrong. Moloch and Mephistopheles are demons. They only wish they had Lucifer’s power, the cowards.”

“The Devil is a figure of fear in two major religions and has indelibly left his mark on history and literature. Tonight we’re going to delve into the myths surrounding the figure we know as the Devil and see if we can glean just a tiny bit of truth about the most frightening boogeyman in history.” 

Maze sniggers.

The slides stop on a three-headed monster with bat wings devouring the damned. Doctor Ross gestures at the slide. “His image and story have evolved as religions have come into their own, but one thing is certain, the Devil strikes fear into people from all walks of life - from the richest to the poorest, and has been seen as the embodiment of evil and the antithesis to everything good.” 

Maze pops a pretzel into her mouth and looks transported with delight. “You should record this. If Lucifer ever comes back, it would piss him off. It would be completely worth it.”

“Shhhh,” Chloe responds, interested despite herself. 

Maze grumbles next to her, pulling out her own phone and hitting the record button. 

On the stage, the doctor enthusiastically gestures at the various slides on the screen as she launches into a talk about the nature of good versus evil, and how ancient peoples had struggled with the concept. The belief being that if God was overwhelmingly good, then there had to be an opposite force that was responsible for evil.

Chloe shakes her head. She can imagine Lucifer’s face if he were here. He would push his way through the crowd, bound onto the stage, and grab the microphone before proceeding to lecture the entire brewery on the true nature of the Devil, and how he detests having all of humanity’s sins pinned on him. She can hear the ‘Dear Old Dad’s’ that would be thrown in for good measure. 

In the end, the talk is interesting. Chloe knows some of it from her own research, but having it laid out so succinctly is fascinating. Doctor Ross is an engaging and enthusiastic public speaker and keeps the audience enthralled through the whole lecture. When she laughs and bows at the end, the crowd gives her raucous and only slightly drunk applause. She waves as she steps off the stage. 

The brewery bursts into motion as the house lights come up, and the screen turns off. Professor Ross is swallowed by the sea of people, and there’s a frenzy at the bar as customers push to get refills or close out their tabs. Chloe hunkers down next to Maze and weathers the rush. Maze is a rock. Patrons swirl around her, but none encroach. 

Maze leans back over the bar, her credit card dangling from her fingertips as she smiles at Claire with a predatory gleam to her eye. Chloe elbows her in the side and glares. 

Maze smiles back, unfazed. 

A growler of Soul Sacrifice and two bottles of beer are deposited onto the bar in front of Maze by a blushing, stammering Claire. 

Chloe rolls her eyes. 

“We should do this again sometime,” Maze says to Chloe as she grabs her growler and winks at Claire. Maze pushes the two beer bottles Chloe’s way. “I got these for you; you ought to have a little fun, and I couldn’t resist after I saw the label.”

The label depicts a stylized angel with enormous white wings who clutches a harp in one hand and holds up a pint of beer in the other like a shining torch. ‘Golden Harp Blonde’ scrolls across the top in golden text.

Maze cackles all the way out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

The brewery is bustling even though the initial post-lecture rush has died down. 

Chloe keeps an eye on Bobby and waits for the right moment to approach. As he’s engulfed by friends and well-wishers, his dark, frizzy head is the only indication he’s still in the room. Background music comes on, and with the din of the crowd, Chloe waves goodbye to the chance for a quiet interview and a hasty exit. 

Her arm jostles as a new patron squeezes in at the bar. Chloe shifts on her seat, shooting an apologetic smile at the person trying to order a beer. 

Doctor Ross smiles an apology back as she slips onto the stool next to Chloe. She’s taken her hair down, and it makes for a curly halo around her head. Her cheeks are flushed, and she looks euphoric. 

“Oh, hi,” Chloe says, perking up. “That was fantastic.”

“Thank you!” Doctor Ross says, beaming at Chloe. Claire slides a beer across the bar and the professor accepts it with a big smile. “It’s my first time trotting that presentation out, and I’ve been so nervous!”

“You did great. I would never have known it’s your first.” 

“It’s a relief to have this first presentation go over so well. I’ve been wanting to do a non-academic presentation on the Devil for ages, but it’s such a loaded topic. When Bobby approached me about presenting at the brewery, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. I don’t want to offend anyone, but I’m dying to dig into the mythology and present it in a way that the public can understand.” She takes a long drink of her beer and shrugs. “Outside of what the Church says, you know. Try googling the Devil sometime, finding anything academic is nearly impossible.” 

Chloe attempts to contain her laugh. She’s well aware of how the Church views the Devil and her own Google searches on the subject were an abysmal failure that ultimately did more harm than good. “What drew you to the topic?” She asks instead. 

“Hoo boy,” Doctor Ross says with a laugh. “I didn’t seek it out so much as fall into it. Once you look for the Devil, you can’t avoid him. Music, art, history, religion. He’s everywhere, usually taking the blame for everything that makes humanity uncomfortable. The Devil is a fascinating figure when you dive into the research.”

Chloe sips her water, surprised to find only a few drops left. “Do you believe that the Devil is real?” she asks, attempting to act nonchalant. 

“Oh, that’s a deeper question than one would think, because then you get into whether I’m religious and then what type of religion. The three big Abrahamic religions: Christianity, Judaism, and Islam, all have different takes on the Devil. Christians tend to see the Devil as more of an evil entity than Jews or Muslims do.”

“You didn’t answer the question,” Chloe points out. 

Doctor Ross tosses her curly hair over her shoulder and contemplates her beer. “You’re right, I didn’t. It’s hard to turn off the academic. But to answer your question, I think the answer is yes and no. I was raised in a Jewish Orthodox household, and our concept of the Devil was nonexistent to amorphous at best, but I’m also from the South, and you absorb some of the Christian culture about Satan and sin that permeates everything down there. So, do I believe in angels, and that there may have been one asking questions of God that He maybe didn’t want to answer? Absolutely. But do I think that that angel, by whatever name you know him, is the root of all evil and responsible for the horrible things humanity does to each other? Not by a long shot.”

“So why bring it up in the presentation? About the Devil and evil?”

Doctor Ross swirls her beer and takes a sip. “It’s not about what I personally believe. The myths around the Devil have been built up over many hundreds of years. What I can present are the truths of what people believed about this figure we call the Devil.”

Chloe bites her lip and squints at the poster for the lecture hanging behind the bar. “So who do you think the Devil is then?”

“An amalgamation of different concepts from various time periods and cultures that have coalesced into one figure.” 

“So you don’t think the Devil is waiting on some fiery throne torturing the damned?” Chloe says and thinks of red skin and glowing red eyes, claw-tipped bat wings. She thinks of dark eyes, one last kiss, white feathers, and the rush of wind on her face from a wingbeat. 

“I think we’re all wrong,” Doctor Ross says, picking her words with care, “about the Devil that is. If we entertain the notion that the Devil is real, then who is he? What can we glean from history and religion? From what I can tell, the answer is clear as mud, so until the Devil shows up to set us all straight, what we have to go off of is a variety of different writings and church propaganda that all feed into this notion of the Devil.” She eyes Chloe over the rim of her beer. “What about you, fellow seeker of the truth, what got you interested in this topic?”

Chloe hums noncommittally. “I never grew up giving it much thought. You know, even if you don’t go to Church, the Devil is always kind of there. But I have this… friend, and it’s a subject he takes seriously and that I’ve heard him speak about in depth.” Chloe gestures to the stage, the detective in her wanting to turn the line of questioning back on the professor. “What do you think the Devil would think if he were in the audience and heard your presentation?”

“Probably that I’m some crazy lady who doesn’t have the first idea of what she’s talking about.” 

“I don’t know. I think the Devil may not like how history has portrayed him, and might have a few things to say about the presentation, but he’d enjoy swapping ideas with you over a drink.” Chloe says, knowing full well that the actual, literal Devil would be happy to let them know, in detail, exactly how maligned he’s been and would not hesitate to dive into the topic with a sympathetic listener. 

“I’m Rebekah by the way,” the professor says, sticking out her hand. “We got into this deep conversation and never even introduced ourselves.”

Chloe takes her hand and shakes it. “Chloe Decker.”

“So what about you, Chloe? You’ve clearly given the Devil some thought. What’s your take?” 

Chloe frowns at her empty glass of water. “I don’t even know why there needs to be a Devil, unless it’s for a purpose. Maybe only an angel can rule Hell?” She phrases the last sentence as a question, even though she knows it’s the truth.

Rebekah raises an eyebrow. “That’s an interesting premise that opens up some moral quandaries.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Well, that gets into the whole idea of was Lucifer’s fall for a purpose? Was his fall preordained because Hell needed a ruler, under your theory, or did God ensure that Lucifer had a place to be if that place couldn’t be Heaven?”

Chloe flips a coaster and frowns. She mentally digs through all the rants about ‘Dear Old Dad’ she’s heard over the past few years and picks at the various threads, pulling them together in her head. “I imagine his fall had something to do with God getting too invested in His creation. I imagine, if I were an angel, I’d be pretty pissed off.” 

Rebekah smiles. “If we take the modern view of Hell as a place of torture and torment, and Lucifer as its king, and work in your premise of him being kicked down to rule Hell by God. Well, being given the power to rule but also being chained to a throne can be a fairly awful torment if it’s not something one sought. It could be quite the double-edged sword.”

Chloe blinks, having never considered it that way before. 

Her heart sinks, yearning for Lucifer, wanting him back by her side so he can interrupt lectures, turn up his nose at the beer, and be a gleeful, if annoying, pain in the ass. 

From the corner of her eye, Chloe watches as Bobby drifts away from his group of friends. She sighs. Duty calls. 

“This has been an interesting conversation,” Chloe says. “If this was a year ago, my friend would be with me, and he would correct every point you made tonight. I want to stay and talk, but I need to get going.”

Rebekah laughs. “I’ll take that as a compliment of the finest order. I love a good debate. Questioning is what I was built for.” She fishes a business card out of her purse and slides it over to Chloe. “Email me. I find so few people who want to engage with this topic like you have. And if your friend ever wants to chat…”

“He’s not around anymore, but this has been fun. Thanks.” Chloe grabs the two beers Maze left for her and snakes her way toward the office, through what’s left of the crowd.

* * *

“Bobby Johnson?” Chloe asks as she eases the office door open. 

Her suspect hunches over a desk in the dark room, typing away at the desktop computer while his laptop rests on his knees. 

“Just one moment,” he calls back, clicking away. 

Chloe slips into the room and flicks the light on. Bobby turns around and blinks at her owlishly. 

“Detective Decker, LAPD. I have a few questions about your uncle.”

Bobby stares. 

Chloe raises an eyebrow and takes a seat in an empty chair. She pulls out her notepad and makes a show of getting ready to take notes. “Your aunt and the employees at the brewery must have told you I would be speaking with you about your uncle’s murder. I texted you and left you voicemails this morning.

Bobby swallows and swivels the chair to face her. He shuts the laptop with a soft snick. “I, uh. I… didn’t want to deal with it.” 

“Bobby, I’m very sorry for your loss, and I understand how difficult this can be, but I need to ask you some questions about your uncle.”

Bobby nods. “Okay. That… that makes sense.” His gaze skitters away as she tries to make eye contact. He fidgets with his laptop and picks at one of the stickers plastered on its back. “I... I’ll answer your questions. 

“Where were you two days ago from 7 to 10 p.m.? 

“In traffic.” 

“Where were you going?”

“I was on my way to a meet up to plan the next ghost hunt,” Bobby says with very little inflection in his voice. 

Chloe raises an eyebrow. “Can your friends confirm your whereabouts?” 

“Yeah. A few of them are still here. They’ll be happy to fill you in.”

“Can you tell me about your relationship with Darren?”

Bobby’s unblinking gaze would be unnerving if Chloe hadn’t had practice with someone who had a tendency to do the same. Chloe stares back until Bobby shivers out of his trance.

“My uncle thought I was too involved in supernatural lectures and ghost hunts and not focusing enough on my future. He thought I should branch out and work on normal event planning.” He twists his hands in his lap. “I know he was looking out for me, but all I want to do is hunt ghosts.”

“Why ghosts?” Chloe gestures to the tasting room beyond the office. “Why all of this?” 

Bobby’s eyes light up and his posture straightens. “I want to know.” He says. “When I was a kid, I had an encounter with a ghost, and ever since then I want to know everything about them. I want to communicate beyond the veil and know what happens after death. It’s the big unanswered question, and I want to answer it.”

Chloe frowns. “And Darren didn’t like this?”

“He was okay with it. He liked that it got me out and that I’ve made friends through it. He helped me get the ghost-walk business going, and Aunt Anne thought it was fun. She came with me a few times.”

“Do you know what your uncle was doing in Griffith Park?”

Bobby blinks at her. “I don’t know.” 

Chloe sighs and tries not to let her frustration show. She’s gotten used to questioning suspects without Lucifer’s skills again, but it’s times like these when she wishes he were here. A flash of dark eyes, a wide, sharp smile, the way he would say, “What do you desire?” and suspects would fall all over themselves to tell him everything. She taps her pen against her notepad. “Would he have reason to be in Griffith Park?” 

Bobby frowns. “We do a ghost hike through the park once a month, but it’s with a group, and I don’t know why he would be out there by himself.” 

“Do you think the location of his death was connected to your hobby?”

He shakes his head and continues to look past her. 

“Bobby,” Chloe says soothingly, “I’m sorry about your uncle. I really, really am, but it’s my job to find who did this, and I need your help. I know these questions are hard when you’ve just lost someone, but I need you to be as forthcoming as possible.”

Bobby’s reply is morose. “I don’t know why he was out there.”

“Do you know anyone Darren didn’t get along with or would have cause to hurt him?”

“His old business partner maybe,” Bobby finally says. “I book the events. I don’t get too involved in how things are run. But when they first started, Mark went in on the business with them. Anne and Darren ended up buying out his share of it because the partnership wasn’t working out.”

“And what about your mom?” 

Bobby’s eyes widen as he peels the sticker off the back of the computer. 

“Claire mentioned you were back in contact with her and your uncle hadn’t been happy about it.” 

“I… My mom is…” He gulps and looks up at Chloe. “She’s my _mom_. I left because I couldn’t take living with her anymore, but… she needed help and I… Darren told me that she was manipulating me, that I’m… _enmeshed_. That I didn’t have to jump when she said so just because she’s my mom.”

“What did she need help with?” 

“She was moving.”

“Why was she upset with your uncle?”

“I told her about the ghost hunts and the Devil lecture. I’d just gotten off the phone with Doctor Ross about the lecture, and I was excited. I wanted her to be excited with me.”

“And she wasn’t?” Chloe asks, already having an inkling of what the response will be. 

“She told me I’m going to Hell,” Bobby whispers. His hands are white around the computer. He swivels back and forth on the office chair. “She said that I had invited evil into my life, and that my uncle should be ashamed of himself for letting me.” He looks back at Chloe. “I’m in my twenties. I’m an adult. I’ve been an adult for awhile, and she talks to me like that, and I…” 

“Bobby. It’s okay. Take a deep breath. Go slow.” 

Bobby shakes his head and tries to muffle a sob. “She’s… my mom,” he says brokenly. “I don’t understand her.”

Chloe nods and decides to retreat. “I think I’ve got what I need. I’ll follow up with your friends to establish your alibi.” She pauses. “Will you be okay? Should I get someone?”

“I’ll be fine, Detective. I… ah. Need to get things wrapped up here.”

* * *

Chloe drops into bed well past midnight.

She pulls the covers over her head, unable to sleep, and plays on her phone rather than trying to drift off. She’s scrolling through her news app when the urge hits. She opens her photos and pulls up pictures of Lucifer.

He used to take any opportunity he could to make off with her phone and fill it full of selfies. The pictures tapered off once Pierce was in the picture, and didn’t happen at all once she knew about who he was, but she still has hundreds of pictures of him stashed away. 

She dithers for a moment on a photo of Lucifer making the most outlandish duck face he could manage before swiping to her favorites. She’d been in a precinct-wide meeting, no phones allowed, and he’d spent a solid hour in the evidence room taking pictures of himself with her phone. A phone that she had left in a locked drawer. 

The photos start as selfies but rapidly turn into a full photo shoot courtesy of Ella. She must have stumbled across him hamming it up for the camera and been roped into the shenanigans. Or she roped him into the shenanigans. The two of them spent a full hour experimenting with different angles, poses, and lighting. The end result is a Lucifer who looks dark and dramatic and oh so attractive. One photo in particular she keeps coming back to. Lucifer looks upwards, eyes closed, half his face in shadow the other in light. The expression on his face is serene and the shadows accentuate his cheekbones and his long neck. 

Chloe found the photos days later at a beach outing with Trixie. She’d been sitting on a bench under the shade of a tree, keeping one eye on Trixie as she played at the edge of the surf. She’d been scrolling through the most recent photos of her daughter when she went further back than intended. The photos she’d come across had made her furious at the time. She’d ripped into Lucifer the next time she saw him. He’d been delighted at first and then baffled, not seeming to grasp why she would be so upset that an entire magazine cover shoot was now on her phone. 

“For the spank bank,” he’d said when she demanded an explanation. 

Lucifer smolders at her. The photo is ridiculous and attractive and Chloe concedes that the man knew his angles. 

She swipes to the next photo, grudgingly admitting to herself that the photos that made her so angry have turned into one of the few things she has left. 

She drifts off later than she would like and dreams of Lucifer. 

She dreams of pressing her face into the side of his neck, of lying alongside him and enjoying the feeling of his arms holding her tight while his legs tangle with her own. She dreams of his hands running through her hair. 

Lucifer sighs and shifts, his arms tighten, and he rolls onto his back, taking her with him so she’s lounging across his chest.

“Darling,” he rasps, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

Chloe runs her hand down the side of his face, enjoying the prickle of his stubble. “You look tired,” she says, dancing her fingers over his eyebrows, down his nose, and swooping a finger over the bags beneath his eyes. 

He catches her hand and presses a kiss to her palm and another to her wrist. “So much to set right; I’ve barely had a chance to stop.” 

Chloe pushes herself up so she’s straddling him, grateful at least she’s wearing pajamas. She laughs at the thought of preserving the devil’s modesty. 

“Am I amusing to you? Here I am in your bed, and you’re laughing at me.” His dark eyes sparkle, and a smile pulls at the corners of his lips. 

Chloe runs her hands along his collar bones, sweeping over pectorals and down his abs. His skin is warm to the touch and muscles quiver under her fingers. “I’m happy to see you,” she says, crawling forward to snuggle against his side. “All I’ve had are your photos to look at.”

He perks up. “Oh, you kept my photos! I’m particularly proud of how some of those came out. Did you fall asleep looking at them?”

Chloe ignores the question. “Are you okay?”

“I am as well as I can be. It’s been… work. Lots of work, and not the kind I enjoy. The little miscreants needed some persuading to behave.” 

“But you’re back now? It’s all taken care of?”

Lucifer sighs and draws her in close. He strokes the hem of her pajama top, dipping underneath from time to time. “Surely there are better things we can occupy ourselves with. Any interesting cases come up? Please, tell me you have some sensational bits of precinct gossip.” His fingers dance southward across her skin and the ticklish sensation makes her gasp and jerk. “Oh, sensitive are we?”

Chloe grabs his hand, interlacing their fingers instead. 

“Big spoon or little spoon?” Chloe asks. 

“Which do you desire?” Lucifer shoots back. 

“Nuh uh. I’m asking you,” Chloe says. She thinks for a moment, “Do you desire to be the big spoon or the little spoon?”

Lucifer looks at her like she’s grown three heads. “No one ever asks me these things.”

“Ever?” 

He shakes his head, his hair becoming a wild tangle against the pillow. “My interactions with humanity are rarely about my desires.”

“Really,” Chloe says. “I find that hard to believe. From what I’ve seen, your interactions with humanity are all about fulfilling your desires.”

“Ah. But I am desire itself, Detective. If anything, humans can’t help but want something from me, and I enjoy the fulfillment.”

Chloe laughs. “Fulfillment… I’m sure plenty of things were full… filled.” 

“_Really_, Detective. I am scandalized.”

“Sure you are, Satan.”

Sliding back into bantering with him is so easy. The exhaustion is still evident on his face; the bleakness fades away from his countenance.

Chloe asks again. “Big spoon or little spoon?”

He thinks for a moment. “Little spoon.”

“Shuffle over,” she says, and they take a moment to reposition themselves. Chloe lies flush with Lucifer’s back, her left arm around his chest and both knees tucked behind his own. He’s completely and gloriously naked, and she’s still wearing an oversized t-shirt and pink kitten pajama bottoms courtesy of Trixie at Christmas. 

He sighs and relaxes into her. Chloe presses her face between his shoulder blade and inhales. “I didn’t expect that answer from you.” 

“I’m full of surprises, ” Lucifer murmurs back. 

“I don’t think you’re asked what you want very often.” Chloe runs her fingers down his forearm, squeezing his hand before chasing back up to his bicep. 

Lucifer takes a shaky breath. “Hell is… all about power. It’s defined by what it lacks, more so than it is by what it has. There is no happiness, no music, no love. There are only shadows of those things left behind. Humans who find themselves in hell are the most isolated souls in the universe. Each one to a room and that room adapts itself to the punishment that particular soul feels it deserves. Some souls are tormented by things they’ve done in their life and they loop over and over again. Others feel they deserve torture, and demons like Maze exist to fulfill that desire. Torture for others is a lack of the things they loved the most on Earth. I can come and go as I please, as can the demons.”

Lucifer pauses, and Chloe can feel the tension in his muscles, as if he’s a coiled spring in her arms. “I can find things I love about Earth in the rooms but they’re all facsimiles and all warped in some way. It’s a reminder that nothing is real, and everything is torment.”

“What about outside of the rooms?” Chloe asks softly. She curls her hand into his and rests their joined hands against his sternum. 

“Sycophants. Torturers. Beasts. I may be the King of Hell, and due to my nature I can’t be ousted from the throne, but there’s always politics to deal with. Political intrigue in Hell would make a Medici quail in fear. And I should know, I’ve got the lot of them down there. There are enough bright demons picking up bits and pieces from humanity over the years that it’s rather horrifying.” He sighs and his fingers tighten around her own. “To be with you now… is a balm.”

Chloe closes her eyes and bites her lip. She wraps her leg over his hip so she’s enveloping him as much as she can and tries to wipe the pictures he paints of Hell from her mind’s eye.

“I’ve been so worried about you,” she admits. “Cases aren’t the same without you.”

“Oh, just the cases, Detective?”

She digs her toes into his calf. “Years of seeing you every day. Nothing has been the same. All of us miss you. I miss you.” 

He takes a shuddery breath that Chloe can feel down the length of her body. The tension that’s been coiling in him since he’s started talking about Hell slowly releases. She’s a small woman, and he’s a large man, but somehow she feels like she’s engulfed him, that she’s providing a safe place for him to admit his fears and sorrows, while she acts as his protection. 

He rumbles low in his chest. It’s not a sound so much as it is a vibration. As if she’s curled around a gigantic cat that’s subsonically purring. It’s completely inhuman, and she doesn’t want him to stop. 

They drift like that. The two of them together in a way that should have been but that they never had the chance to make real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [ObliObla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObliObla/pseuds/ObliObla) for hitting me with her version of "A Brief History of Satan." Trying to google anything about the devil is like going down a church rabbit hole. She and [Arlome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arlome/pseuds/Arlome) were both kind enough to look over the conversation with Doctor Ross and ensure my facts were as... straight as they could be when talking about the Devil. Massive props to them.


	4. Chapter 4

Chloe spends her morning hunched over her desk at the precinct, going over notes and trying to create a timeline of events. She very specifically does not think about waking up in an empty bed with the slow realization that her subconscious had been twisting the knife. 

Bobby’s friends all confirmed that he had been on his way to meet them, but there’s still a gap in the timeline where he was running late due to traffic. It’s not outside the ordinary, Los Angeles traffic being what it is, but there’s still some leeway there for Bobby to have had time to murder his uncle. 

Chloe jumps as Maze drops into the chair across from her desk. Big black boots thump down on Chloe’s files, and Maze’s smile is all satisfaction. “Hiya, Decker. Enjoy the beer?”

“Maze. I’m working.” 

“I can see that.” 

“What are you doing here?” 

Maze snatches Chloe’s purse off the desk and rifles through it, pulling out the granola bar Chloe keeps stashed in one of the pockets for emergencies. She opens it with as much noise as she can possibly make and takes an enormous bite. “I was thinking about your case last night,” she says while chewing.

Chloe stares, trying not to show any disgust over Maze’s eating habits. She knows Maze does it on purpose, simply for the reaction. “Okay, fine. Why?”

“‘Cause you and I, Decker, we gotta stick together. We’re both,” she wrinkles her nose, “_pining_ after people. And Linda says it’s important to have a support system when going through a loss.”

“I’m not pining.” 

“Suuure you aren’t. I saw your face when Lucifer went all red and terrifying. It turned you on.” 

“Maze,” Chloe says, flatly. 

“Oh, please. It was super sexy. I’m all about Eve right now, but oh man, if he’d pulled that a few years ago, I would have gone to pound town with him. _Unf_.” She thrusts her hips up, and Chloe tries not to faceplant into her desk out of sheer embarrassment as heads all over the precinct swivel their way. Maze stretches extravagantly. “I know you’ve thought about it.”

“Did you just come here to talk about Lucifer?”

“Naw, I was thinking about your case, but if I can throw in a little torture on the side...” Maze’s smile is all teeth. 

“So what do you have?”

“That dipshit Bobby totally did it.”

“Okay. Do you have evidence or a confession? Otherwise I’m going to need more than that.”

“So let’s torture him a bit. Get a confession out of him.” 

“Maze. Police investigations don’t work that way. And it’s illegal. You know this.”

“Enh. Lucifer pulled it off.” Maze leans back and takes another bite of the granola bar, chewing loudly enough that Chloe is sure the entire precinct can hear. 

“He wasn’t _torturing_ people.”

“You sure? Torture is more than popping eyeballs, Chloe. Sometimes, to really break a person, you need to apply a lighter touch. Figure out what makes them tick. What they’re scared of.” Maze throws the wrapper at the trash can, ignoring it as it lands right next to the basket. She slouches back down in the chair and spins a karambit around her finger.

“Bobby seemed upset that his uncle is dead. It may not have been him,” Chloe says

“Let me at him. We’ll have this wrapped up by the end of the day.”

“Maze. We are not intimidating a confession out of him. It would get thrown out of court immediately.”

Maze mumbles something under her breath about Chloe being no fun. 

Chloe shrugs, unfazed. She’s been Maze’s wet blanket in the past and has no problems doing the same now.

She taps her pen against the desk, staring off into space. “I’ve got plenty of leads, but nothing substantial. Right now, I’m leaning toward a crime of passion. Darren was arguing with his nephew and his sister before his death. I feel like Bobby knows more than he’s letting on. My gut is telling me he’s the one to keep my eye on.”

Chloe crosses off the name Toltec Tap in her notes. “Toltec Tap is out of the running as my lead suspect. There’s… not enough there, even if they do have a rivalry with Birch Brewing.” She thinks for a moment, narrowing her eyes at Maze. “If it was a crime of passion and Bobby did kill his uncle… maybe he wants to tell him that he’s sorry and that he misses him.” One scarred eyebrow raises, and Chloe grasps at the idea that’s starting to take shape in her mind. “Bobby is into the occult. He believes in the supernatural and hunts ghosts.”

Maze snorts. “Ghosts aren’t a thing, Decker.”

“Okay. So that answers one question I had. But Bobby doesn’t know that. He’s convinced he’s had interactions with ghosts.”

“Are we going to haunt him? I pretended to be an angel once and completely wound Lucifer up. He didn’t sleep for two weeks. It was awesome. I’ll haunt the shit out of some sniveling kid.”

“You did what!?” Chloe jolts upright and gawks at Maze. “He was coming to pieces, Maze. He hadn’t slept in a week. Why would you do that?”

Maze shrugs. “What? We made up.” She pulls her karambit out and flicks it around her finger. “We gonna haunt him or not?”

“That was an awful thing to do, Maze, and no, we are not going to haunt him.”

Ella bounces up to Chloe’s desk, interrupting the tirade that’s forming on the tip of Chloe’s tongue. “Who are we haunting? I’ve got plenty of ghost experience. I can give you pointers.”

Maze glowers at the overly cute llama on Ella’s bright blue t-shirt that’s exclaiming ‘No prob llama.’ “_Ghost experience_,” she says, scathingly.

“Totally a thing,” Ella replies, nonplussed. She turns to Chloe and rustles the file folder she’s holding. “Forensics is back on the Birch case.” 

Maze sits back and pulls her phone out, pointedly ignoring Ella. 

“So what do we have?” Chloe asks, taking the file and flipping through it.

“Fingerprints are inconclusive. The murder weapon wasn’t found, even on a more thorough search of the area, so whoever killed our vic must have taken it with them.” She shrugs. “Autopsy isn’t a surprise. Victim was shot once to the torso and died due to internal damage and blood loss. A 9mm round was recovered, but ballistics will take awhile, so I can’t tell you what fired it. There’s not much more I can give you, Chloe.” 

“What about those lines? The ones you’d mentioned back at the scene?”

“Would you believe they’re a pentagram?” Ella says, plucking some photos from the file Chloe holds. 

Maze guffaws. 

Ella arranges the photo on Chloe’s desk and sure enough, the faint lines of a pentagram are visible through the leaf litter and grass. It’s large, drawn on the ground on the side of the table that isn’t covered with an enormous tree. 

“It’s old,” Ella says. “Not too old, ‘cause it’s still visible, but there hasn’t been rain in ages and with how dry everything has been it would take awhile for something like that to disappear.” Ella shrugs. “I can’t give you a firm date, but the forensics team thinks it’s a few weeks old. We’ll leave the final conclusion up to you, but it was probably someone goofing off. The table is usually covered in junk. People leave stuff for Rand and Nancy all the time, so a pentagram isn’t too unusual, considering.” She shuffles the pictures back together. “Too bad Lucifer isn’t around. He woulda had an epic rant about this.”

Chloe frowns, focusing on the task at hand and not the pain that wells up at the mention of Lucifer’s name. “If it’s as old as you say it is, it may not be relevant, but I’ve run into enough devil imagery on this case to not want to rule anything out.”

“I’m telling you, the nephew did it,” Maze says, peering up from her phone. “Why else would your dead guy be at a _haunted_ picnic table if it wasn’t something to do with that kid?” 

“We don’t have proof, and everything pointing to Bobby is circumstantial at best,” Chloe replies. 

“So let’s haunt him and get him talking. He’s totally bought into that shit.” 

“Oh, what about a seance?” Ella says. “Get his confession with a ouija board.”

“Ouija board? Is it some kind of torture device…?” Maze asks, perking up.

“Only if you’re a fourteen-year-old girl at a sleepover,” Chloe shoots back. 

“They’re so much fun,” Ella tells Maze. “They’re a way for the dead to communicate with the living, to send messages from the afterlife. I used to babysit my cousins back in Detroit, and my aunt, _oh_, she hated that stuff. She’d go on these rants about how they’re a way for the Devil to lead us all astray and how we’d all go to Hell if we used them. But my cousin had one stashed under her bed, and when my aunt was away, we would pull it out and have a blast.” 

“Right,” Maze drawls. “So it’s human garbage.” 

Ella shrugs. “Maybe, but I swear the planchette moved on its own. None of us were pushing it.” 

Maze grunts and goes back to her phone, typing with one hand and twirling her karambit with the other. Ella watches with a slightly baffled expression. 

“Or,” Ella says, “if you’re trying to get a confession, maybe set up a seance. Maze would make an amazing medium.”

“Lies,” Maze replies. “Nothing about me is medium.”

Chloe arches a brow while Ella leans over to punch Maze lightly on the shoulder. Maze glares. 

“I thought you’d be all up in this stuff, Maze,” Ella continues. “You’ve got the vibe for it. A medium is someone who acts as a bridge between the dead and the living, and a seance is… like a party where everyone gets together so they can talk to the dead through the medium. Haven’t you seen _Ghost_?”

“Seances sound stupid. At most, you’d get static, especially since possession is forbidden, and I guarantee Lucifer is extra pissy about it. I keep telling you people, ghosts don’t exist, Ellen. Not in the way you’re thinking” 

“You know my name, Maze.”

“Fine. _Ella_.” 

“Maze, Ella’s talking about a movie. Not actual ghosts.” Chloe says, her patience rapidly wearing thin.

“But it is a movie about a ghost! Oh wait, does this mean you haven’t seen it?” Ella turns her big eyes on Chloe. “We need to get together for a movie night immediately. Maze hasn’t revelled in the glory that is Patrick Swayze at his peak. This must be fixed.” She pulls her phone out of her back pocket and starts scrolling through it. “What does the day after tomorrow look like for everyone? It’s a holiday on Monday, so we can stay up late, watch a movie, and get our drink on.” 

Chloe blinks at her. “I, uh, don’t think I have plans, but I really should focus on the case.”

“Chloe, babe, you gotta live a little. And this is _Patrick Swayze_!” 

“Let me figure out how to get some information out of Bobby Johnson, and I’ll think about it.” Chloe says firmly. 

Ella grins. “Sunday night it is. I’ll call Linda and make sure Amenadiel can watch Charlie.” 

“Ella, we didn’t agree to that.” 

Ella waves back at them over her shoulder. “No, but you both need it. Patrick Swayze, Chloe. His movies are iconic!”

Chloe leans back in her chair, closes her eyes, and rubs at her temples. The beginnings of a headache are brewing in the back of her head, and quiet would be bliss. 

Maze taps the circular hilt of the karambit on Chloe’s desk. Chloe moves her hands so she can glare at Maze. 

“Is anyone in the movie hot?”

“Really, Maze?”

“I’ll sit through a movie with you and Ellen if it means I get to look at a hot body. What about that Swayze guy? Maybe the eye candy would help you… relieve some things.” 

“Relieve some things? Come on, Maze.” 

“Relief is good, Chloe.” Maze’s body undulates on the chair in a way that has Chloe gaping. “And I know you’re not getting any since Lucifer left, or even before he left. The two of you could have taken the time to fuck it out at least once, but Chloe Decker likes to punish herself.” 

“Maze!” 

“I’ve got a few videos from some sex parties a few years ago.” She licks her lips. “You’d like them. Lucifer is real pretty when he’s getting fucked; he knows how to put on a show. Might give you some nice dreams.” 

Chloe glares. She lays her head down on her arms and groans. 

“Oh, are you having sex dreams about Lucifer? We can go to lunch; you can tell me everything. I’ll fill in some details so they’ll be even better, more _accurate_.”

“No, Maze, I am not having sex dreams about Lucifer.” 

“Ugh, you’re dreaming about talking to him, aren’t you? Freaking typical, Chloe.” 

Chloe turns her head and glares. “Why do you even care about this?” 

“I don’t,” Maze says vehemently. “But you’re wound so tight that a few good sex dreams would do you some good. Or, hey, I can lend a hand. What’s a little head between friends?” 

“Maze. What’s your problem?” 

“What, I’m just trying to help a friend out.” 

“You offered… well, friends don’t do that with each other.” 

“Says you,” Maze grumbles. 

“Yeah, says me. Our friendship has never been like that. So, are you okay?” 

“Totally fine. Wonderful.”

“Is this about Eve?”

Maze doesn’t respond. 

“So it is about Eve.” 

Maze’s eyes dart around the precinct, and her body tenses. “Listen, I should probably go. I’ve got some bounties that need to be tracked down, and I promised Linda I’d look after Charlie later…” 

Chloe reaches out and grabs her wrist as Maze stands up. Maze freezes. 

“Sit,” Chloe says gently, still holding on to Maze’s wrist as Maze lowers herself back into the chair. “Now, what is going on with Eve?”

“Nothing is going on with Eve,” Maze says. Her voice dips at the end, into an almost growl that sends shivers down Chloe’s spine. 

Chloe has weathered many a snit from the Devil himself, so a recalcitrant demon is nothing. She waits in silence for Maze to continue. 

Maze takes a deep breath, straightens her back and rotates her head so her neck cracks. “I haven’t heard from her in months. She left to figure herself out, and I don’t know where she is, or if she’s okay, or if… or if she still thinks about me.” 

“Maze, have you reached out to her? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you checked in on her to make sure she’s okay.” 

The karambit swoops around Maze’s finger and hits her palm with an almost audible smack. “I sent her a text a month ago. Just some stupid meme I thought she would like, and I haven’t heard back.” 

“Try again,” Chloe says. “There are plenty of explanations for why she may not have responded, but sometimes… we just need the people that care about us to reach out and see if we’re okay.”

Maze blinks at her. 

Chloe takes a deep breath and tightens her fingers on Maze’s wrist. “I’ve been a crummy friend. I couldn’t accept who you were, and once I did wrap my head around it, I didn’t know how to approach you and fix things. So I… ignored everything.” She laughs. “I should have been more like Trixie. More forgiving, more… open, but it’s hard for me to do. I don’t let go very well. You’re my friend Maze, and I’m sorry I let you down. I don’t want you feeling used, and I know Eve doesn’t want you feeling that way either. She’ll come around. You’ll see.” 

Maze’s knuckles are turning white around the hilt of the karambit. Chloe smiles at her. “Come on, send a text to Eve, and I’ve got questions that I need to ask some people, you can ride shotgun.”

“I’m not Lucifer’s replacement,” Maze snarls. 

“No, you’re not. You’re Maze, and you aren’t a replacement or stand-in for anybody, but I could use the company, and honestly, I’ve missed you. So if you want, and if you don’t have anything pressing to do, I’d love to spend time with my friend and hear about everything she’s been up to.” 

Maze cocks her head, loosens her grip on the karambit, and spins it around her finger. She tilts her head up and juts out her chin. “Sure, fine, whatever, but don’t get all emotional on me.” 

"I wouldn’t dream of it,” Chloe says, releasing Maze’s wrist. 

* * *

Chloe is good at reading people. She’s honed her skill as a detective and asks open-ended questions. She knows what to look for in body language and inflection. 

With Lucifer, she’d fallen out of practice a bit. His ability to draw out desire had people falling all over themselves. The flip side is that he would get ahead of himself and make assumptions when none were warranted. The partnership worked for them, and she misses that easy back and forth, even if she was having to rein him in on a regular basis. Toward the end, she had been looking forward to exploring their professional partnership further, once she knew that his abilities were real. They were partners, and then friends, but never lovers.

So close, but never that. 

She glances over at the passenger seat. Maze is silent and still as stone as she stares out the window. 

Maze barely moves when they pull into the parking lot. Chloe clears her throat, not sure if she should nudge a demon who’s sporting a thousand-yard stare and a propensity for violence. 

Maze blinks once. Her eyes slide Chloe’s way. 

“You ready, or do you want to hang out in the car?”

Maze’s scarred eyebrow twitches. “I’m not a child, Decker.” 

“Nope,” Chloe replies, “I never thought you were. Although—” She narrows her eyes at Maze. “—were you ever a child? Were you born or just… made? What’s parenting like in Hell?”

“We’re sitting in a parking lot about to question a suspect, and you want to know what parenting is like in Hell?”

Chloe shrugs. “I’m curious.” 

Maze’s eye roll is all the answer she gets. 

Finding Birch Brewing’s former business partner hadn’t been difficult. Mark Shipton’s name and information is all over the internet, and a quick Google search had yielded the results Chloe needed. Mark works as a financial investment counselor at Canfield Development. His name, email, and phone number were easy to find. Chloe had spent some time combing through his social media accounts, and based on the sheer number of beer pictures he’s posted, along with the easygoing way he talks about beer and the industry, he would have been irresistible as a potential business partner for a brewery. 

Canfield Development is large. Its lobby is big and bright, with comfortable couches and enormous windows. It feels sterile, more like a waiting room than anything else. 

The receptionist calls up to Mark Shipton’s office while Maze prowls around the perimeter of the lobby. With her leather pants, boots, and crop top, she’s conspicuous. Her silent prowling coupled with the scowl on her face give the impression of a predator on the hunt. 

Chloe ignores her and takes a seat on the couch, flipping through her notes. 

The receptionist, a young twenty-something woman, watches with her mouth slightly open, her eyes barely leaving the sway of Maze's hips as she stalks by. 

Chloe tries her best not to smile. 

The elevator dings, and Chloe turns to look, hoping it’s Mark, but a young man sidles out instead. He holes up behind the receptionist desk, and Chloe catches bits and pieces of the hushed conversation. 

Maze has caused quite a stir, it seems. 

If Lucifer were here, he would be camped out at the reception desk, charming the phone number and underwear off of whoever was behind it. Maze, on the other hand, is a stalking panther. Hers is a beauty that can’t help but be admired from a distance.

The next time the elevator dings, Mark Shipton steps off. He looks stressed and hurries toward her with the air of someone in a rush. 

“Detective Decker?” 

Chloe stands and shakes Mark’s hand. His grip is firm but a bit clammy. 

“I hope you don’t mind having the interview down here,” Mark says. “This is considered personal business, so I don’t feel comfortable using a conference room, and my office is buried right now. We’re working on a new acquisition, and I’ve barely had time to go home.” 

“Here is fine,” Chloe replies, sitting back down. “I have a colleague riding along with me today. I hope it won’t be a problem.” She gestures over to Maze, who’s prowling along a wall of pictures depicting beautiful too-perfect landscapes. 

Mark follows her gesture and gapes.

The glance Maze shoots them is frigid. Mark audibly gulps while Chloe has to work to keep the smirk off of her face. 

“You were Darren and Anne Birch’s former business partner, correct?” Chloe asks, before Mark regains his equilibrium. 

“Uh, yeah… I, uh, went in on it with them.” His eyes follow Maze as she slinks toward the receptionist desk. The two people behind it are wide eyed at her approach. 

“What was your relationship with the Birches like? 

“Good at first. We had… um, different ideas about where the brewery should go. I had, ah, um—” His breath whistles through his teeth, and Chloe resists the urge to turn around and look to see what Maze is doing. When he starts speaking again, his voice sounds more high pitched. “—a solid business plan drawn up. They, ah.” He squeaks and gapes. 

“Mr. Shipton?” Chloe prods. 

“They didn’t care about growth. It was more about the ‘vibe’ of the place and making good beer, and what they wanted to do wouldn’t scale,” he finally says in one big rush. “Darren was a great musician, and Anne is a sweetheart, but there’s no money in brewing unless you’re willing to scale. We were in a small space, and they were more interested in variety than they were distribution. Sure, we could make nine different beers or more, but the place is only big enough to handle three, reliably, for distribution. My plan was to get that distribution side up and running and grow into a larger facility that could handle the tap room and the brewery. Instead they pushed variety and music, and they’re barely scraping by.” He slumps against the couch, his eyes looking beyond Chloe. 

Maze laughs, the one she uses when she’s flirting, low and husky and seductive. 

“How did you end your relationship with Darren? Was there any acrimony?”

Mark blinks, as if coming back to himself. “Nooo. I mean, a little. We argued, but they, ah, scraped up the funds to buy out my side of it, and that was that.”

“Did you run into Darren afterwards? Argue at all?”

“From time to time. They’d do beer events, and I’d see them around, but it’s a big city, and they liked to stick to their little corner of it.” He tears his eyes away from the front desk and focuses on her. “Darren and I didn’t get along—everyone knows that—but I didn’t have any reason to murder him. I know I can be a bit of a blunt asshole, but there’s no way I’d do something like that.” 

“Can you account for your whereabouts last Tuesday night between 7 and 10 p.m.?”

“At this fucking place. They’ve been working me into the ground. Only a week to go, and this project will be done, and I can live like a normal person again and have a freaking beer. Security will back me up. There’s always someone at the desk overnight.” 

Chloe nods and hands him a business card. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Shipton. I’ll reach out if I have further questions.” 

His somber gaze slides behind her, and his jaw goes slack. 

Chloe gets up to retrieve her erstwhile colleague and save the receptionists from being eaten alive. 

Maze leans against the desk, almost bent over, Her arms are crossed on the raised partition. Her leather-clad, perfect ass is like a beacon. 

Chloe rolls her eyes. “You good to go?” 

Maze’s smile is full of sin as she runs a finger along the woman’s cheek. “Oh, yeah, we’re done here. Aren’t we?”

The two receptionists blush. 

“Okay then, Maze?”

Maze saunters out of the building, throwing a wolfish grin over her shoulder as they leave.

When they settle back into the car, Chloe shakes her head while Maze throws her head back and laughs.

* * *

Maze camps out at Chloe’s desk upon their return to the precinct. She watches in silence as Chloe finishes sending emails, the karambit flashing back and forth in her hand. 

Chloe packs up and heads out to pick up Trixie from her evening karate class. She’s due to be dropped off at her dad’s tomorrow. Dan has offered to pick up Trixie from karate in the past, but Chloe loves watching her. She hasn’t missed a practice yet in the six months that Trixie has been going, and she wants to keep it that way. 

Maze trails Chloe to Trixie’s lessons and leans against the wall next to Chloe to watch Trixie run through her katas. This is the first time Maze has come along, though. Chloe glances over from time to time. Maze’s stern face relaxes, and a hint of pride shines through when Trixie wins a practice match. 

Trixie’s face lights up when she notices Maze. She approaches her next match with all the seriousness her normally giddy self can muster. She glances at her audience, bows to her opponent, and launches forward in a flurry of movement. 

Trixie Decker takes down her opponent with ease, flush with pride at having her mother and a demon from Hell looking on. 

They pick up takeout on the way home, Maze still trailing on her motorcycle. 

It’s an enjoyable evening spent bickering and reminiscing over Chinese food, and Chloe kicks herself that she didn’t reach out to Maze sooner. They’ve both been struggling. They’ve both lost people, Maze twice over. 

They stay up late, and when Maze falls asleep on the couch, Chloe covers her with a blanket and shuffles Trixie off to bed. 

Chloe changes into her pajamas and curls up in her comforter. She drifts off, her mind at ease. 

Fingers comb through her hair, brushing through the tangles. Chloe hums and curls into her pillow, content and comfortable. The hands in her hair pull and twist, plaiting the strands into braids. 

“I should have known you’d be good at this,” Chloe says. 

Lucifer hums back at her. It’s a deep sound, one that Chloe wouldn’t expect to come from a human throat. She pries open her eyes and rolls so she can see him. He sits next to her, rubbing the end of her braid between his fingers. He’s shirtless, the black scale pants his only clothing. 

Chloe groans and pushes herself up, giving Lucifer her back so he can continue playing with her hair. 

Lucifer twists and braids, combs it all out with his fingers, and starts again. 

“When did you get so good at doing hair?” Chloe asks, risking a glance over her shoulder at Lucifer’s focused face. 

“I have sisters is the simple answer. The more complex answer is that hair is important to humans. And the personal answer is that I find it relaxing.”

He tilts her head forward and starts another elaborate braid. 

“Why’s it so relaxing?” Chloe prompts, free to be curious about his past. While he was with Eve, she hadn't wanted to ask, scared to rock the boat as they found their way back to being friends. 

“It’s the closest I’ll come to preening.”

Chloe’s eyebrows shoot up and her head jerks. Lucifer tsks. “Stay still, darling. I’ve more loops to do.” 

She’s dying to ask him questions. She has a running list of things she wants to know, and it’s only gotten longer with time. She could go to Amenadiel for answers, but it would feel like a betrayal. She wants the answers from Lucifer. His truth may be left of center at times, but he's never lied to her. 

“Preening, for angels,” Lucifer says, his voice pensive, “is a form of bonding. To touch another’s _wings_… It’s letting your guard down and being comfortable. Being still.” His voice dips at the end, a frown evident in his words. “It’s hard to put into words a human would understand. There is a hierarchy with angels. For instance, all angels are siblings, but not all angels are equals. Preening is a way for angels to maintain sibling ties to each other. It supersedes the hierarchy.”

“It sounds complex,” Chloe says. 

“No more complex than human societies. Even humans have hierarchies, no matter how much politicians blather on about _all men being created equal_." His fingers move over her hair, adept and practiced, tucking in ends and smoothing bits out. “There,” Lucifer says. “All done.” He gestures towards the mirror over her dresser. 

Chloe hops off her bed and gasps. Her hair is a riot of braids. Two French braids on either side of her head frame her ears. A larger braid runs over the top of her head. It consists of strands and strands of smaller braids. The braids cascade down in a shower of complexity. The whole thing is a masterpiece. 

Lucifer leans back against her pillows, one arm casually thrown behind his head, ankles crossed and a satisfied smile on his face. 

“That,” he says, “is a hairstyle that hasn’t existed since the Celts. It was a favorite of the warrior women of the British Isles. Oh, I'd say about 300 years before the Romans started sniffing about. It’s impossible to create by yourself and requires an experienced hand to pull off. The women of the time used it as a form of bonding. They would tell stories and sing and create masterpieces of art in human hair.”

“Like preening.” Chloe murmurs, tilting her head every which way in the mirror. She’s never felt so beautiful, kitty pajamas and all. The style makes her feel like she’s ready to charge into battle. “If this is a style that women do for other women, how’d you learn it?” 

“Ah. A band of warrior women took a shine to me.” His eyes sparkle. “Well, they abducted me as a foreigner on their land. I was more than happy to be taken hostage by such a lovely group of ladies, every one of them armed and ready for battle. The intention was to ransom me off and increase their prestige amongst the clans.”

“What happened?” 

“I spent a month among them before Amenadiel came to drag me back to hell, and in that time, the ladies and I shagged like rabbits.” Lucifer closes his eyes and Chloe can tell it’s a memory he's savoring. “They made me their kept man, so to speak. The ladies would go out during the day, doing whatever it is Celtic warrior women do. They'd come back to a nice meal and a good shag, courtesy of yours truly. It was an excellent time. I taught them a few tricks and—” he gestures at her hair. “—they taught me a few things. I believe they were rather loath to part with me when Amenadiel arrived. They were adventurous, and he got quite the eyeful. I don’t think he’s ever quite recovered from the trauma. Ask him about it sometime, and enjoy the way his face pinches. It really was horrifying for him.”

He pushes himself off the bed and prowls towards her. “I’ve found,” he says, running his fingers over her braids, “that some of my best teachers have been women.” Chloe manages to tear her eyes from his to glance into the mirror. 

The way he looks at her makes her feel brave. Like Trixie in karate earlier, the force of his regard makes her feel like she can accomplish anything. 

Lucifer brushes a kiss over her forehead and traces the shell of her ear as she tilts her head up. He ghosts a kiss over her cheek. His nose brushes hers. 

Chloe runs a hand over the smooth planes of his chest and thinks about warrior women and being brave. 

He brushes another kiss over her face, and Chloe licks him. 

It’s not a delicate lick. She swipes up across his lips and onto his cheek. Lucifer stumbles back, surprised, and Chloe uses his confusion to push against his chest so he’s splayed on the bed, blinking up at her. 

Chloe crawls over the King of Hell in her kitty pajamas, ratty t-shirt, and hair done up for battle. She plants herself on his lap like it’s her due, leans forward and kisses her way up his neck. 

Lucifer groans, his hands resting lightly on her hips, and he arches his neck to give her better access. She nibbles along a collar bone, up to his Adams apple, over his chin, and brushes her cheek against his, enjoying the rasp of stubble. 

In Lucifer’s time as her partner, the few kisses they’d shared were lovely and tentative and in one instance heartbreakingly sad. 

Chloe is sick of tentative. Half of Los Angeles knows what it’s like to have Lucifer Morningstar in their bed, and Chloe is not among that number. Tendrils of rage bubble up over what she’s missing. 

She braces one hand on his chest and uses the other to hold his head still and kisses him.

The low rumble in his chest, his hand clutching at her hip, it’s all the confirmation she needs that he is willing to let her do as she pleases. 

Her tongue swipes against his, and she’s lost to the heat and passion of the kiss as he answers the siren call. Her blood roars, and her heart hammers, and there’s only his mouth against hers, and his body against hers, and he’s hers hers hers, and she’s going to take him apart and put him back together again. 

She grinds against him as her hand slides down his chest toward the clasp of his pants. 

Lucifer breaks the kiss, grabbing for her hand before it reaches its destination, and whispers in her ear, “Wake up.” 

Chloe jerks awake, breathing hard. It’s dark outside her window, and the night is silent. Her heart races as she sprawls across her bed, her skin on fire from wanting a man who wasn’t there. 

She rubs her hands over her face as the weight of her loneliness crushes her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The absolutely incredible [Zeearts](https://zeearts.tumblr.com/) drew [fanart of Lucifer braiding Chloe's hair](https://zeearts.tumblr.com/post/189018686730/that-one-hair-braiding-scene-by-elleflies-s), and I am dead and dying.


	5. Chapter 5

Chloe wakes up with her hair a tangled mess and her blankets a puddle on the floor. Her sheet is barely clinging to the bed. 

She shuffles into the bathroom, glances in the mirror, and scowls. She looks like a rumpled middle-aged mom. She is a rumpled middle-aged mom. A middle-aged mom who’s angry she isn’t involved in a torrid love affair with the Devil. 

She drags herself down the stairs, surprised to find Trixie on the couch digging into her cereal while watching Saturday morning cartoons. “Hi, Mom,” Trixie mumbles around a mouthful of cereal as Chloe makes her way into the kitchen. 

Maze smirks at her over a half-eaten bowl of cereal and a mostly empty bottle of vodka. “Heya, Decker,” she says, her smile sharp and lascivious, “any good dreams last night?”

Chloe glares. 

Maze hoots and pounds a fist on the table. “I knew it. Tell me everything.” 

“I’m not telling you about my dreams.” 

Trixie wanders in from the living room. She pours more cereal into her bowl and beams up at Chloe. “I dreamt I was riding a flying dolphin and we were battling a giant octopus. What about you, Mom?”

Maze tilts her head expectantly. 

Chloe narrows her eyes. “I dreamt that I had a new hairstyle.” 

Trixie purses her lips as Maze cackles. “Flying dolphins are more fun.” 

“I agree, Monkey, they’re much more fun than new hairstyles.” 

Trixie cocoons herself back on the couch, while Maze dives back in to her vodka infused cereal. 

Chloe retrieves her phone and scrolls through her emails. She blows out a frustrated breath, shaking the cobwebs of her dream away as she focuses on what’s important. She needs Bobby to talk. There’s too much wiggle room in his alibi, and her gut is saying he knows more than he’s letting on. There’s not enough evidence to bring him in for questioning or to charge him. What’s more irritating, is that if Lucifer were here, she wouldn’t be stuck with a suspect that refuses to work with her. 

That’s the problem with having a partner with superpowers. His abilities were a crutch she’d gotten used to using, even before she knew he was the Devil.

Chloe leans her cheek against her hand and closes her eyes. All this talk of ghosts and the occult and trying to communicate with the dead makes her heart hurt. 

She wishes her subconscious would knock it off with the dreams. They’re a tease of how things could have been, and every morning her heart breaks when she wakes up. Just as she and Lucifer were finally on the same page… 

Story of her life, really. 

“You okay, Mom?” Trixie asks, pausing her show. 

“I’m fine, Monkey. Just thinking about the case.” 

Trixie shoots her a look, and Chloe is struck by how big her little girl has gotten. “Sure you are Mom,” Trixie says, an unconvinced tone to her voice. “That’s your ‘I miss Lucifer’ face.” 

“I don’t have an ‘I miss Lucifer’ face.” 

Maze rolls her eyes. 

“Yeah, you do. Your eyebrows kinda scrunch together, and you look sad.” Trixie hops off the couch and plows into Chloe, hugging her before crawling into her lap. “I miss him too, Mom. But if you’re feeling sad… I know hugs help me.”

“They help me too, baby.” Chloe tightens her arms around Trixie, and the two of them cling to each other. 

“Don’t mind me,” Maze says. She waves a hand in their direction. “Keep your disgusting emotions to yourself.”

“Oh shut up,” Chloe says, unwrapping an arm from around her daughter and gesturing in Maze’s direction. 

Maze huffs, unmoved. 

Chloe rolls her eyes, wraps an arm around Trixie and shifts her chair closer so she can wrap the demon in a hug along with her daughter. 

Trixie’s happiness is infectious as Maze’s fingers tickle at her sides. She giggles herself boneless, sliding off of Maze and Chloe until she’s lying flat on her back on the kitchen floor, laughing. 

Maze doesn’t push Chloe away. Instead, she hooks an arm around the back of Chloe’s chair, leans into her space, and plays with the ends of her hair. She peers down at the phone and rolls her eyes. “I knew you’d still be working. And here I was hoping a good dream would unwind you.”

Chloe rolls her eyes toward the ceiling. “Maze”

“Don’t get your granny panties in a twist. Anyways, Bobby and his friends are meeting at Griffith Park this afternoon to go on a ghost walk. Kayley tells me they’re doing a memorial walk for your vic.” 

“Kayley?” 

“Don’t play dumb. Bobby’s girlfriend. I looked at your notes at the precinct last night and texted her. I got us an invite to go on the hike.” 

Trixie crawls off the floor and runs off to her room. 

Chloe wonders when she’d gotten so comfortable with her daughter being close with a demon… probably around the time Chloe became best friends with the Devil. The urge to sit on the floor and laugh like a crazy person bubbles up inside of her. She squashes it. 

“We go on this ghost hike, and you can hang with the friends, pestering them with questions, and I’ll cozy up to Bobby. I’m a demon, First of the Lilim, and Head Torturer… I can get Bobby to talk.” Maze licks her lips and closes her eyes… blissed out on memories Chloe doesn’t even want to begin contemplating. 

“Maze. First of all. We aren’t torturing him, physically or psychologically.” 

Maze looks surly in response. “Fine,” she grumbles, “but I can still convince him I have a message from the great beyond. It’s not too far off the mark to begin with, since I am from the _great beyond_.”

“And what message would that be?”

“That his uncle is pissed off! If he takes ghosts seriously, you would think a pissed off dead uncle, who he murdered, would have him confessing in no time. Boom. He confesses. You’ve caught the bad guy. Drinks all around.”

It wasn’t a terrible plan. Better than some of the ones she and Lucifer had come up with over the past few years. “Maze... Why are you helping?”

Maze shrugs. “Solidarity. Us heartsick bitches gotta stick together.”

Chloe hugs her and this time Maze returns the gesture without reservation. Their embrace doesn’t last long. Trixie comes barreling out of her room shouting, “I’m ready!” at the top of her lungs. Maze pulls out of the hug and her masks slide back into place. 

“For what, Monkey?” Chloe asks, trying to ignore the catch in her voice. 

“To go on the ghost walk. Duh.” Trixie spins in place, showing off her outfit. She’s wearing a hot pink t-shirt with a black Ouija Board design. A bandana with little ghost motifs printed all over it pulls her hair is back, and shorts and hiking boots finish her ensemble. 

“Trixie,” Chloe says, her heart sinking. “You’re going to your dad’s this morning.” 

“I can go afterwards,” Trixie argues. “I want to go on the ghost hike with you and Maze. It sounds fun.” 

She looks so hopeful, and Chloe feels guilt claw its way up her throat. “Maze and I aren’t doing this for fun, Monkey. We’re investigating a suspect, it’s not safe.” 

“It’s not fair.” Trixie announces. 

“No. It’s not, but your safety is my first priority, and I can’t let anything happen to you.” 

Trixie turns big eyes on Maze. 

Maze shrugs. “Your mom isn’t wrong.” 

Trixie stomps back to her room. Chloe shakes her head and sighs. She doesn’t want to be the bad guy in this situation and she’d love nothing more than to spend an afternoon hiking through Griffith Park with Trixie, but after everything they’ve been through… she won’t take chances with her daughter’s safety. She knows Maze will have her back on this particular decision. 

* * *

It’s a beautiful day at Griffith Park.

Chloe admits that she isn’t completely on board with a ghost-themed hike that’s tied to a murder investigation, but she knows that Bobby knows more than he’s letting on.

Maze garners more than one appreciative look as she passes by with her leather pants, boots, and crop top that expose her midriff and shoulders. 

Chloe follows in her wake having dusted off her old hiking boots and opted for shorts and a t-shirt rather than anything she would normally wear to question a suspect. 

Their destination isn’t far. A small group of people loiter around a blue Jeep. As they approach, a tall, broadly built blonde woman in her late twenties waves an indolent hand at Maze. 

“Hey,” Maze says. 

“Hey, you must be Mazikeen. Glad you could come.” She looks a little startled once she sees Chloe behind Maze, “Oh, Detective Decker. I didn’t realize you’d be here.”

“She came with me,” Maze says, chin jutting up, her stance widening. “She’s my girl.” 

“Ah,” Kayley says, the small group of people behind her, Bobby included, looking at Maze with some trepidation. 

“Sorry,” Chloe says, elbowing Maze to the side a bit, “Maze is really into the supernatural, and with this most recent case I got bullied into bringing her along. She has occult connections and doesn’t miss a chance to rub my face in it.” 

“What kind of connection?” A voice pipes up from amongst the milling group of people. 

Maze looks down her nose at the man who asked. “I used to work with the dead.” 

“Like a coroner?” Bobby asks, frowning. 

“I hear their voices and interpret their desires,” Maze says, meeting Bobby’s eyes, her gaze hard and flinty. 

And with that she has them. Like magnets, the group gravitates towards Maze out of morbid curiosity. The pull isn’t as strong as when Lucifer enters a room, but Maze has an otherworldly vibe that they can’t resist. Before, Chloe would have chalked it up to her sultry looks and arrogant attitude, but now she knows better. 

“Well, are we going or are we standing around?” Maze demands. 

Kayley shivers, tearing her eyes away from Maze’s fierce gaze. She manages a partial smile and claps her hands together. “Welcome to the Darren Birch Memorial Ghost Walk. This is a 4-mile round-trip hike starting and ending at the Observatory. I hope everyone is wearing good shoes, has plenty of water, and has slathered on the sunscreen. We’re going to be hiking up and down some hills, so be prepared for a workout. As we hike, we’ll be talking about the stories that Griffith Park is famous for: Dona Petronilla’s Curse, The Haunting of the Hollywood Sign, and The Beast of Griffith Park, and we’ll stop at Picnic Table #29 to honor Darren and his memory.” 

Kayley pulls a bouquet of red carnations out of the back of the Jeep. Bobbly slouches forward and takes them from her. “We’ll be leaving flowers at the Picnic Table to commemorate my uncle,” he says. “Since most everyone here knew him… well we wanted to do something to honor his memory.”

The group heads out, Kayley bringing up the front and Bobby loitering at the rear. 

The Mt. Hollywood Trail snakes off from the back of the Observatory parking lot, and their little group forms into a line to avoid the many people enjoying the sunshine and beautiful weather. 

Kayley looks over her shoulder and beams at the group. “If we were just doing the Picnic Table we would have started the hike closer to it, but this hike is about the essence of Griffith Park. It’s gonna be a long hike, but I think everyone here will enjoy it. The plan is to take the Mt. Hollywood Trail to Dante’s View. From Dante’s View, we’ll hook up with the North Trail and stay on that almost all the way to the picnic table.”

The group ambles up Mt. Hollywood Trail for a ways before Kayley pulls them off to the side. The Observatory takes pride of place in the hills, Los Angeles spread out below it. The always present smog hangs low over the city but is thin enough to be considered a clear day. “I know almost everyone here is from Los Angeles,” Kayley says, ”but I didn’t catch where you two are from,” she nods at Chloe and Maze. 

“Born and raised in Los Angeles,” Chloe replies.

“And I’m from Hell.” Maze crosses her arms and looks at Kayley daringly. 

Kayley laughs. “That’s a new one. That in Michigan?” she jokes.

Maze raises one scarred eyebrow. 

Kayley pales and looks away from Maze’s hard gaze. She tilts headlong into enthusiasm as a coping mechanism. “Welcome! I love having non-natives out for hikes with me. I think it really helps people settle into their new home... Anyways…” She shakes herself a bit, sidling away from Maze, clearly nervous. 

“Let’s try again... Welcome to Griffith Park! Home of monsters, murderers, ghosts, and legends. We’re going to start our story in 1863 with the death of wealthy land barron Don Antonio Feliz. His niece, Dona Petronilla, who was seventeen at the time, was expected to inherit the land that is now Griffith Park.” She makes a wide sweeping gesture over the Observatory and the hills it perches on. “No one knows for sure what happened. Maybe Don Antonio Feliz overlooked her. Maybe he was taken advantage of on his deathbed, but when Dona Petronilla found out that the land would not be hers, she cursed it, shouting that the cattle and fields would become diseased and die; and that no one will ever profit from this land. She said of the new owners that one shall die an untimely death and the other to blood and violence.” 

Maze leans into Chloe’s shoulder and whispers, “I like this girl.”

Kayley’s voice lowers. “Misfortune upon misfortune fell upon the new owners and even the judge who oversaw the transfer. One new owner was shot and killed by banditos on a trip to Mexico. The other’s family slowly died of misfortune and disease…”

The story is enthralling, but Chloe notices when Maze drifts away from her side and slowly makes her way toward the back of the crowd. She lingers a few feet away from where Bobby is fiddling with his phone.

Kayley waves them on, peppering the walk with bits of Griffith Park trivia and lore. She’s a compelling storyteller who keeps her audience engaged and notices when someone isn’t paying full attention. She’s clearly noticed Maze, marching at the back with Bobby, and Kayley keeps shooting concerned glances over her shoulder. 

“Something wrong?” Chloe asks innocently. She knows full well what Maze is doing, she’s just not going to acknowledge it. 

“Oh, nothing. Just worried about Bobby. He’s been stressed and upset ever since his uncle died.”

“How long have you known Bobby?” Chloe asks. 

“A few years now. Most of us met Bobby through the ghost meetups. I got into it through urbex, um, urban exploration. I was going out with my camera and photographing abandoned spaces. It was a natural fit to spin things off into a ghost walk, and Bobby has been a great partner.” She blushes. “We started dating shortly after we got the business off the ground.”

“How long as that been?”

“Coming on a year and a half.” Kayley pauses and glances over her shoulder. “The past few years have been rough for Bobby. It took him awhile to get away from his mom. We thought we’d seen the last of her, but she’s like a bad penny. She keeps cropping up, and he starts spiraling.”

“What’s his mom like?”

Kayley puffs out a breath. 

“Twila’s a religious nut job. She plays off of the sweet church lady trope and is really good at getting people to sympathize with her and all of her ‘problems.’ Bobby is her only child. His dad cut and ran when Bobby was little so it was just the two of them for a long time. It wouldn’t be so bad, except she treats him more like her… emotional support son. Because she’s his mom and Bobby loves her, he’s put up with it. When she needs something he has a hard time not rushing to help. Darren and Anne were the ones who convinced Bobby to move out and work for them. He’s a fantastic event organizer, even if he’s been pretty quiet lately.”

“Darren was arguing with his sister. Do you have any idea what that could be about?”

“Probably this stuff.” Kayley gestures at the hikers and the area they’re walking through. “Bobby told her about the hikes and the Archetype lecture. She rolled into the brewery the day after, and proceeded to lose her ever-loving shit. She was screaming, crying… it was a full on temper tantrum. I’m honestly surprised she didn’t throw herself on the floor like a toddler. Only reason it wasn’t a bigger deal was because it was in the middle of the day, and it was only Darren, Bobby, and a few of the ghost hunt people there.”

“That sounds dramatic,” Chloe says. 

“She told Bobby he was going to Hell. The Devil talk really put her over the edge. She even tried to show up to the event, but we had people in the parking lot on the lookout for her.” 

Chloe glances behind her at Maze, who’s lingering behind Bobby. 

“What do you think happened the night Darren was killed?” 

Kayley shrugs. “Hell if I know. I still can’t figure out what Darren was doing out there, but I don’t think it had anything to do with Bobby or the business.” 

The hill angles up, and Kayley picks up the pace, the rest of the group huffing and puffing behind her as they trudge along. They spill into a copse of trees. Kayley threads her way along the trail, stopping at the edge of the hill.

“Welcome to Dante’s View. Our very own Garden of Eden,” Kayley says. “Take a moment to rest and enjoy the view.”

Chloe tilts her face to the heavens and enjoys the sunshine. The city is spread out before them and even though it’s always smoggy, the view is incredible.

She tries to stamp down intrusive thoughts of Lucifer. How there is no sunshine or peace where he is. How he loved life on Earth, and how he was positively gleeful over the smallest things. The more she tries to push the thoughts away. The faster they come.

Thankfully the group doesn’t linger long. 

The longest part of the hike is along the North Trail. There’s a ways to go before they arrive at the murder scene, and between the view and Kayley’s impressive knowledge of Los Angeles history, particularly the deaths and legends of Griffith Park, the walk passes faster than she expects. 

When they arrive at the picnic table, there’s barely any indication the table was once a crime scene. The massive tree branch sits like a stone on the table, heralding the deaths of Rand and Nancy, and the death of Darren Birch. 

“This is it,” Kayley says. “The scene of Darren Birch’s murder. May his killer rot in Hell forever.”

From the corner of her eye, Chloe watches Bobby flinch. 

Kayley takes a deep breath and swipes at her eyes. She straightens and looks out at the group, and she tugs at the bottom of her shirt. “The year is 1976. A pair of young lovers, one a musician and the other an aspiring actress, stop at this very picnic table for a secret tryst. It would be their last. The massive tree fell on them as they made love. Their distraught families scattered their ashes here, and the site has been haunted ever since. A cleanup crew was sent out to clear away the tree, but whenever the crew started their saws, they were hit with chills as if they suddenly had the flu. The creeping terror was intense, and they could hear crying and moaning. Finally the tree itself started to shake, and the crew tried to flee. They tried and tried and tried to start the truck, but the engine wouldn’t turn. The glass of the windshield fogged up and letters appeared across it. First an ‘n,’ then an ‘e’. It kept going until the phrase became obvious, ‘Next time you die.’ The truck engine fired up, and the crew escaped. They never came back. Too scared of the young lovers.”

The group is breathless, and Chloe feels chills running down her spine. 

“Days later, frustrated with the crew for not having finished the job, their supervisor arrived with a saw and the intention of finishing it himself. They found him dead the next day. Cause of death was a heart attack. Or so they say. No one has attempted to take the tree down since. Odd things keep happening: phones stop working, inexplicable screaming, cold spots. Year after year, the stories trickle in. And so here we stand. The living amongst the dead. We go on, but Rand and Nancy are stuck in that moment, spiraling together and unwilling to be disturbed. Darren is part of that legend now. No matter what, his story is tied to theirs.” Kayley touches the deteriorating surface of the picnic table with her fingers before standing aside. 

Bobby pulls the carnations from his backpack and stumbles forward. He’s shaking by the time he reaches the table. His inhalation is watery, and his face is ashen as he places the carnations on the table. As soon as the flowers touch the wood, a low growl rumbles through the air. 

Everyone tenses. Chloe’s instincts scream at her to run. Her heart pounds in her chest. 

Maze growls again, her head thrown back, and she rumbles in a language Chloe has never heard before. It’s dark and guttural and the sound of it makes her want to curl in on herself. 

“There’s no peace here,” Maze says, her voice deep and unfamiliar. “The dead demand their due.” Maze takes a step forward, and another, and another, until she’s practically nose to nose with Bobby. “The dead know who are responsible.”

Chloe can’t see much of Maze’s face. But what she can see of the right side flickers briefly for a moment. Bobby sags to the ground, clutching his knees, and rocks himself back and forth. 

Maze steps back, and Chloe shakes the cobwebs out of her head. She knows this game. She’s done it with Lucifer often enough. She plunges forward. 

“Maze,” she says sternly, shaking the cobwebs of terror from her mind. Chloe pulls Bobby to his feet and checks him over. “I have no idea what just happened.” She shoots a look at a very unrepentant Maze.

Chloe hands Bobby off to Kayley and drags Maze to the back of the stunned group.

They don’t linger long after Maze’s performance. Kayley directs them back to the trail and hangs on to Bobby’s arm the entire way, propping him up as he stumbles beside her like a zombie. 

The further they get from the picnic table, the more animated the group becomes, even if everyone is still mostly stunned by Maze’s display. Kayley gets back into the headspace of guide and stops to regale the group with ghost stories from time to time—a bit about the haunted merry-go-round, and the death of Peg Entwhistle at the Hollywood Sign. 

Chloe doesn’t miss the glances Kayley shoots at Maze. 

They shamble back to the parking lot, exhausted from a long hike and crashing from the fear-induced adrenaline spike. 

They reach the Jeep and stand in silence for a moment until someone starts to laugh, followed by more until the entire group is laughing. Chloe manages some half-hearted guffaws, not entirely sure what’s happening. Maze stands next to her, arms crossed, scowling at a still-out-of-it Bobby. 

“That was amazing,” a forty-something man gasps. He’s practically bent in half, laughing as he clutches his knees. 

The woman next to him is murmuring “incredible” over and over again. 

The laughs taper off, and the group disperses back to their own cars, some of them still chuckling, albeit with a maniacal edge tinging the sound.

Chloe takes the opportunity to approach Kayley and Bobby. “Are you okay?” she asks, taking note of how pale Bobby is. His mouth opens and closes, but no sounds emerge. “Bobby, I know Maze can be dramatic, but if there’s something you want to talk about, or some clue you can give us about Darren, we all want to help find his killer.” 

Bobby looks at his feet and shivers. Kayley hustles him into the passenger side of the Jeep. 

She turns to Chloe after tucking him in. “I’m not sure about your friend, Detective. Bobby’s a mess but....” Kayley shuffles around, looking nervous. “I think she did me a favor, honestly. One of the guys on the hike does tour reviews. I’ve been trying to get him to come along for ages, and your friend’s stunt means business might be really good in the future. So thank you.”

“Uh, I’ll let her know, and you’re welcome?”

Chloe rejoins Maze back at her own vehicle. 

“Humans are weird,” Maze says, looking sharply at Chloe. “They’ll do everything they possibly can to ignore the truth in front of their eyes. Even when they think they’re looking for it.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Chloe admits, fully aware of how much she had overlooked during the past few years in Lucifer’s company. 

“Anyways.” Maze says, nodding at Kayley’s departing Jeep. “He’s nice and terrified for you. Definitely feeling plenty of guilt, otherwise he wouldn’t have crumbled like that. He’ll be an easy nut to crack.”

Chloe knows she should rein Maze in, but she honestly isn’t sure what the difference is between letting Maze use her skills and abilities and letting Lucifer use his, even when Chloe didn’t quite understand what those abilities were. What can she even accuse Maze of anyways: being too into ghost stories and acting out in the moment?

She drives home and wonders when she became so comfortable operating in the gray. 

* * *

Maze leaves as soon as they arrive home. She claims that Linda needs her to pick up some groceries, but Chloe is certain that Maze isn’t used to being away from Charlie for any extended period of time. 

Chloe falls into bed soon after the sun sets, still wrapped in a towel from her shower, promising herself that she’ll change into her pajamas soon enough. 

It’s the humming that wakes her up. 

She rolls to the side, grimacing at the loose towel around her head and the damp hair trying to escape. She tugs at the towel wrapped around her torso, reassured that it, at least, has stayed put. 

The humming ceases, and someone touches her foot. 

Chloe yelps and kicks out, hitting whoever touched her squarely in the ribs. 

Lucifer’s eyes widen as he gasps for air, clutching at his chest and curling around his aching ribs.

“Lucifer!” Chloe scrambles to his side, her hands hovering over his back as he wheezes. 

After taking a moment to recover, he rolls to face her, sprawled across her bed. He’s dressed in another elaborately embroidered shirt with a high collar, this time in red, and another pair of black scaled pants. His bare feet look incongruous with his ensemble. 

Lucifer takes a deep breath, wincing as she stretches out, and props his head on his hand. He raises his eyebrows at the towel. “Well,” he purrs. “This is bringing back memories.” 

Chloe clutches at her towel and glares. “What the hell, Lucifer?” 

He pouts at her. 

She rolls her eyes, tugging the towel tighter around her body, and flings her damp hair over her shoulder. The towel she’s wrapped around her hair had fallen off when she had jolted upright after kicking Lucifer. She situates herself against the headboard as Lucifer shuffles to make room for her. His head ends up in her towel covered lap, and his fingers trail over her legs. 

She has a brief moment where she wishes she’d bothered to shave. 

It doesn’t seem to bother him. 

Chloe takes a deep breath and tries to calm her racing heart. She focuses on the small things, the weight of Lucifer against her, the feeling of his hair threading through her fingers. The more she strokes, the curlier his hair becomes. She tugs gently at a ringlet and watches as it bounces. 

Lucifer grumbles and shifts. 

“Shhh,” Chloe says, and he settles. She strokes a hand down his face and along his neck. His eyes flutter shut, and she takes the opportunity to look at him. He looks haggard, and there are bags under his eyes. He has no makeup on or product in his hair. She’s so used to how he looks with eyeliner that its lack stands out. She cards her fingers through his curls. 

“You look tired.”

“No surprise there. It’s been a veritable who’s who of Hell parading around lately, and I’m eager to have it over and done with.”

Chloe frowns. “Is this some sort of demonic…” She searches for the word and settles lamely on, “party?”

Lucifer snorts. “Think… combination Trooping the Color coupled with some Roman Decimation.” 

“I don’t know what that means,” Chloe admits. 

Lucifer sighs and closes his eyes, his hands still on her legs, “The state of American history education really is shocking. Regardless, now that Dromos’ little rebellion has been dealt with, I’ve been restructuring as it were. Taking stock of legions and doling out punishment as needed. Typical Hell politics really: nasty, ruthless, and bloodthirsty. They wouldn’t dare try anything against me, especially not now, but who’s in and who’s out… Well, that’s always in question isn’t it?”

His dark eyes are fathomless in the dim light of her bedroom. He reaches up and tugs at the end of her damp hair. “Now tell me darling, what has you so spooked?” 

“It’s this case…” Chloe says, trying not to smile as Lucifer perks up. “We were trying to get more information out of a suspect, and I think we may have scared him too much.”

“We?” There’s concern in his voice, maybe a bit of sharpness. 

Chloe runs her fingers through his hair and massages as she goes. He curls into her like a giant cat. “Me and Maze. She’s been helping me out.” 

“Excellent. Do give me all the dirty details.” 

“Nothing dirty, Lucifer. Just this case, we went on a ghost walk today through Griffith Park. The suspect is… into the supernatural, and we were hoping to—” Chloe pauses. “We were hoping to play on his guilt in order to get more information.” 

“And it didn’t work?” 

“No. He was practically nonverbal when we left.” She swallows and focuses on the lock of hair wrapped around her finger. “Lucifer, I think we went too far. It wasn’t just Maze that went too far, it was me too. I knew what the plan was and I’m the detective. Maze is a civilian, even if she is a demon. I keep thinking that all this celestial stuff is beyond me. I’m… I’m just a detective. 

“Oh you’re more than just a detective.”

“Lucifer, I’m a divorced, single mom who has a workaholic streak ten miles wide. The thing I’m most known for is doing full frontal nudity when I was 19.” 

He attempts to hide his smile in her lap.

She swats his shoulder. “Stop that. I’m being serious, Lucifer. I am not prepared to be in charge of… of divine beings. I could have have really damaged this guy. We hurt him, and I’m not… my job isn’t to dole out punishment. My job is to determine who committed the crime so a judge and jury can decide.” 

Lucifer sighs and rolls off her lap. She manages a tremulous smile at the mess she’s made of his hair. He looks so stern in the clothing he’s wearing, like royalty, and yet she’s turned his head into a disaster of curls. He doesn’t attempt to fix it. Instead he settles next to her and interlaces their fingers. She leans against his shoulder and rubs her face against his shirt. 

“I get ahead of myself sometimes,” Lucifer says. “I am… used to being in charge with no one to gainsay me. When I came to Earth it was much the same. I can blend in, to an extent, but for most humans… they know something is different even if they can’t pinpoint what that is. I am almost always other. And then you walked in, and I crashed like a wave at your feet. My power, my prestige, my money. It meant nothing to you. You saw me for who I am.”

“I didn’t like you very much back then,” Chloe murmurs into his shoulder. 

“I imagine not. No one’s ever challenged me like you.”

“What about Maze?”

“Until Earth, she rarely gainsaid me.” He chuckles. “It wasn’t until she started getting to know humanity that she would contradict me. My Maze has come so far.” 

Chloe pokes him in the side. “She’s not your Maze.” 

“Ah, apologies, Detective. You are correct. She’s her own demon, as it seems you’re learning first hand. Maze is headstrong, and brave, and her cruel streak strikes fear into the damned, but she would never let anything happen to you or the spawn.”

“I know that now, and I still feel terrible, because it took me too long to get there. I should have trusted you. We were partners and I let you down. I let Maze down.” 

Lucifer picks her hand up and presses a kiss to the back of it. “Yes, I was hurt by your… conspiring with Father Kinley, but Detective, I was wrong too, and I did you a disservice. You should never have learned the truth the way you did. As for Pierce… I should have warned you in a way that you would have believed. I put you in danger, and your reaction, especially being the pragmatist you are, was… understandable.”

Chloe sniffs. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I didn’t even intend to end up in Rome. I panicked and grabbed Trixie and we just traveled. Rome sounded fun, so we went, and if you’re a tourist in Rome, you visit the Vatican, and there’s all this… Satan imagery, and I felt like I couldn’t escape. Like you were _breathing_ down my neck wherever I went, and the church felt… safe.”

“Ah yes, that makes a distressing amount of sense. I fear my—reputation—has worked to the church’s benefit for many hundreds of years. One of the best ways to keep your flock in line is fear, and if one does think for themselves and try to break loose… well, examples must be made, and inevitably it ends either at, ‘The devil made me do it,’ or, ‘We want to save you from the Devil.’ They’re slanderous imbeciles. I make no one do anything. I would never infringe on another’s free will. If the Devil makes anyone do anything, it’s because they asked me to.” 

Chloe frowns and plucks at Lucifer’s shirt, tracing her finger along an elaborately embroidered thorn motif that winds its way down his sleeves. 

“Thinking, Detective?” 

“It’s about the case. It’s… something the girlfriend of the suspect said. That his mother is extremely religious and upset about his involvement with… supernatural enthusiasts.”

“Oh ho. Do tell the Devil more. I have some _minor expertise_ in the supernatural.”

“Minor expertise,” Chloe parrots back at him. 

He nods earnestly. She rolls her eyes. 

“They’re not…” She pauses. “They like the stories, that’s all. That’s what made it so easy for Maze to wind them up. They already believe in all this stuff. They want so badly to have proof that it’s real.” 

“Proof is not always what one expects.” 

“I know that firsthand.” She rolls her head against his shoulder, enjoying his solid presence. “Our suspect put on an event about the Devil. There was a guest lecturer from UCLA and everything.” 

“And I missed this travesty?” he says, aghast. 

“You’d have loved it. Maze recorded it, and I have the contact information for the woman who presented. You can send her your Devil manifesto later.” 

“I may do just that, but you were saying about this supernatural nonsense?”

“I need to track down his mom. From what I’ve been told, she’s convinced that he’s going to Hell for his interest in the Devil and ghosts and monsters and you know… that stuff.” 

“So nice to be labeled as ‘that stuff.’” 

Chloe rolls her eyes. “Fine, you can be hot stuff. So he’s interested in hot stuff and that stuff.” 

“Hot stuff,” he grumbles, under his breath. 

“Shut up, Satan.” 

“Fine, fine. Do continue with your investigating. You do know how much I enjoy watching you work.”

Chloe squeezes his hand. “I thought Bobby did it because it happened at a location he frequents on a regular basis, and he’s acting strange. He’s not very helpful for someone who lost a family member. But what if he’s just protecting someone?” 

“Now there’s a better use of Maze’s skills… it sounds like you need to track this woman down and get some answers. If she fears Hell, perhaps bring Hell to her.” 

“Lucifer, I can’t… We already traumatized her son. I can’t just… spring a demon on her.” 

“Maze is her own demon, Detective. She makes her own decisions. Be honest with her, ask for her help, and she will give it. She won’t let you down.” 

“I don’t know if it’s right.” 

“I’ve little advice to give you, Detective, _Chloe_, other than to trust your instincts. That’s what makes you different from so many others. You know yourself, and while you’ve gotten turned around and led astray in the past, you’ve always found your way back. Trust what your instincts are telling you and don’t let Devil, demon, or any measly humans distract. Justice must be served.” 

Chloe runs her hand up his sleeve. “There is something I wanted to ask you...” 

He leans into her and practically purrs, “Oh, really, Detective, and what is that?”

She meets his eyes. “What’s up with your clothes?”

He tilts his head. “Pardon?”

“Seriously, what’s up with your clothes? Where’s the Prada and the Armani? Where’s the Louboutins? What’s with… all this.” She gestures at the red embroidered shirt, the scaled pants.

“One must fit the part,” Lucifer says, tugging on his sleeves uncomfortably. “Human made clothes do not hold up well in heat and ash, and demons have _opinions_ about how their king should look. Do you know that one enterprising demon set up a sweat shop populated with former sweatshop owners and religious zealots? Their eternity is devoted to making the Devil look good. Even I was surprised by how effective a torture it’s been.” He slides off the bed and opens his arms, spinning so Chloe can see the full design embroidered on his shirt. It’s a stunning piece of art: red embroidered on red, with just a hint of gold thread. The high collar is embroidered in black and frames his face. It’s subtle and beautiful and makes him look powerful and otherworldly. 

She feels small and insignificant sitting in just a towel before the King of Hell. 

He holds out a hand for her and tugs her to her feet, into his arms. She hugs him, and together they sway. Her bare feet nudge against his. When she closes her eyes, her hands grasp at nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kept saying I was going to update on Tuesdays, but Monday night keeps working into my schedule better. 
> 
> As for the Griffith Park facts. Those are all true. Or at least ghost stories, folklore and legends that have cropped up over the years about the park. There was so much I wanted to add and so much that got cut simply because the story needed to keep moving and I couldn't do a chapter that was solidly "this is a fun Griffith Park fact"


	6. Chapter 6

It’s her day off, but Chloe goes into the precinct anyways. 

She digs through her piles of notes, and on a hunch calls Anne Birch, who picks up the phone on the first ring. 

Anne dumps a wealth of information about Twila Johnson née Birch. 

Anne considered her sister-in-law a thorn in her side. She hadn’t known about Twila’s screaming match at the brewery or her attempts to pull Bobby back into her sphere of influence. It was clear that Darren had been withholding information from his wife, knowing how upset she would be about Twila’s reappearance. By the end of the conversation, Chloe has enough information to know what Twila looks like and where she might be. 

The morning is productive. She has a solid lead to follow and a suspect to interview. She collects her things and heads to church. 

* * *

Covenant Church is larger than Chloe expects. 

The sprawling building takes up most of a city block. It blends in with the surrounding buildings: big, and blocky, and drab. Nothing about it screams _house of worship_ the way the cathedrals and churches in Europe do. Those catch the eye; they’re unavoidable. This place… the only surprising thing about it is the likely cost of the real estate. Thankfully it also comes with decent parking, and as congregants leave from the 8 a.m. service, spots open for the 10 a.m service. 

Some congregants are filtering into their seats, but most are in the lobby milling around the coffee cart tucked away in the corner. Placards displayed at the front of the lobby pronounce an ongoing series of sermons centered around “Overcoming the Devil: How do we stand against Satan and all he represents?” 

She screeches to a halt in front of the sign, once again slapped in the face with all she’s lost. The crowd mingles and laughs around her. 

A plump older woman with blonde hair going gray steps up and asks gently, “Are you new here, honey?”

Chloe shivers and tries to get her brain back on track. “Um, hi, yeah. I’m looking for Twila Johnson.”

The woman perks up, “Oh, are you a friend of hers?”

“Detective Chloe Decker, LAPD. I have some questions for her about an ongoing case.”

“This is about Bobby, isn’t it?” She rustles the pamphlets in her hands and blows out a gusty, resigned breath. “We’ve been praying over that boy.” 

“And you are?” 

“Oh, sorry, where is my head?” With a slight hint of a southern accent, she says, “I’m Bonnie.” She beckons Chloe to the side, out of the way of traffic as more and more people filter into the worship hall. “Twila should be around shortly. Is she in some kind of trouble?” 

“I can’t comment on an active investigation,” Chloe says, craning her neck around hoping to see Twila. 

“You stand right here with me, sweet pea. I’ll give you and Twila some space to chat before the service starts.” Bonnie’s face lights up as she smiles at Chloe. “You should stick around. We usually sit in the back since all the seats are full up by the time we’re done greeting. This series is all about overcoming Satan, and I personally think it’s been one of Pastor Joe’s finest. I’m sure you’ve seen all kinds of evils working in the LAPD.” She passes out a flier to a family of four, smiling broadly and waving as the kids scamper toward the youth rooms.

“Do you know Twila well?”

“We’re both church volunteers. We pass out the fliers before services.” She leans in conspiratorially, adding, “And keep an eye out for new folks. We gotta do our due diligence for the people of Los Angeles.” 

“That’s very… nice of you,” Chloe replies. Being back in a church is making her skin prickle. She doesn’t want to linger. She doesn’t want the reminders of what she lost… and how she lost it. If only she hadn’t put her faith in Father Kinley. 

Congregants mill and swirl around as Bonnie twitters by her side, and Chloe swallows the darkness that threatens to overtake her. Now isn’t the time. 

Twila Johnson, when she arrives, is a thin middle-aged woman with olive skin, dark curly hair pulled back into a bun, and dark eyes. Like Bonnie, she’s clutching a sheaf of fliers. Unlike Bonnie, her expression is severe. 

“Twila, honey,” Bonnie says. “This is Detective Decker from the LAPD. She swung by to ask a few questions.” She waves and takes a few pointed steps away.

Chloe gestures down a mostly empty hallway. Twila shuffles after her. There’s seating in the wide hallway, two large wingback chairs angled towards each other with a small table in-between. A wooden cross and a stack of promotional fliers for upcoming events and services sit on top of the table. 

Chloe parks herself in a chair. Twila sits across from her, her hands clasped in her lap and her ankles crossed in a manner that screams prim and proper. Her back is straight, and her gaze steady. 

“Twila Johnson. I’m Detective Decker with the LAPD, I’m investigating the murder of Darren Birch.”

Twila meets Chloe’s eyes, stern in her demeanor. “Don’t know what I can tell you, Detective, but shoot.” 

Chloe pulls out her notebook and makes a show of flipping through the pages. “Where were you last Tuesday between 7 and 10 p.m.?” 

“On the phone with one of the ladies from my Bible study.” 

“That sounds like a long phone call.” 

“It was, but when the Lord is testing us, who better to lean on than our brothers and sisters in Christ?”

“What was your relationship with Darren like?”

Twila sighs. “Not the best. We were close growing up, but he found music and pot early on and wasn’t interested in staying in the church. We went our separate ways after high school. We stayed in touch, but never thought much of each other. I prayed for him every night, though. He was my brother, and I prayed for his soul.” 

“And what about Bobby? How did he come to be living with Darren?”

“He let doubt grow in his heart and questioned how I’d raised him. I didn’t know Darren was encouraging him until I came home one afternoon and found him gone. He’d taken all his stuff and hightailed it off to my brothers. From there he got into all that Devil nonsense, started hanging out with the wrong people. Bobby gave in to temptation instead of sticking with the way he’d been raised.” 

Twila ducks her head and wipes at her eyes. The fliers crumple in her lap. 

“Was that what the two of you were fighting about?” 

Her question is greeted with silence. The family resemblance between Bobby and his mother goes deeper than their looks. Chloe waits her out. She taps her pen on her notepad and raises an eyebrow. Twila finally gives in. 

“He’s my son, and Darren had no right, encouraging him like that. He threw everything I’d done for him in my face, and for what? Beer and Satanism? That _boyfriend_ of his who thinks he’s a girl? It’s not right.”

Chloe blinks. “And you didn’t have anything to do with Darren’s murder?”

“Detective, my brother and I didn’t get along, but I wished no harm on him. I’ve prayed for him for years, and it hurts my heart that he never came back to the church.”

“Can anyone verify your alibi?”

Twila nods. “I’ll give you the name of the lady I was chatting with. She’ll tell you.”

“Do you know anyone who may have wished your brother harm?”

She snorts. “Darren was easy going, but he was stubborn and didn’t back down. I’m sure he rubbed more than a few people the wrong way. I wouldn’t be surprised if his dealings and the devilry of his life was what did him in.”

“Devilry...” Chloe muses. “What kind of dealing are you referring to?”

“Detective Decker, the Devil is always looking to lead the weak astray, and my brother was weak. He was raised in a God-fearing household but gave it all up. He covered his sins with a kind exterior, but don’t be fooled. He encouraged all kinds of vice.”

“If there was something your brother was involved in that you know about, it may help us find who killed him. If you have any leads…”

Twila’s lips twist, and her eyes shutter. “That’s all I know, Detective. He led my Bobby astray and never came back to the Lord. I pray every night, but I can’t help but think that he’s burning in the fires of Hell. I want to forgive him, but I have an angry heart.” She smooths a nonexistent wrinkle out of her skirt. “It’s my cross to bear, I’m afraid. Unless you have more questions, I think the service is about to start.” 

“I’m good,” Chloe says, handing her a business card. “I’ll reach out if I have more questions.” 

Twila marches out of the hallway, her heels making staccato taps against the tile floor. She disappears around the corner, leaving Chloe with only the garbled notes of what sounds like bad, if enthusiastic, rock music filtering through the hallway. 

The lobby is mostly empty when she returns. A volunteer wipes up the counters, and a young dad chases a giggling three-year-old in front of the doors. Chloe stops in front of the service signs. She can’t help it. Anytime she sees the word “Devil” it brings back old memories. Good memories, embarrassing memories, _terrifying_ memories, but all of them now cherished. 

Chloe contemplates the doors and makes a decision. She slips in unnoticed and takes the first seat she can find at the very back. Twila and Bonnie are a few rows ahead, standing and swaying back and forth to the music. 

She claps along with the crowd, pretending to be as enthusiastic as the people around her. Thankfully the lyrics are displayed on the screen at the front of the church so it’s easy to follow along with the band. It’s not what she expected from church. There’s no choir, no hymns, not even gospel music. It’s rock, or at least a version of it. The lead singer keeps encouraging the audience to sing along, and she finds she’d happily pass on the active participation part of the service. The man next to her bellows out the lyrics and Chloe frowns at how loud and off-key he is. 

Lucifer would have so many comments about how rock was once labeled “the devil’s music” and now here it is, front and center at church. She blanks out the singing and drifts into a daydream where Lucifer Morningstar in all his Hellish glory suddenly descends on the service. She may have added in a second fantasy, that she would never admit to, where he sweeps her up in his arms and wings for all to see. 

The fantasy shakes loose once the congregation is given leave to sit, _finally_, and the business of the church begins. 

Pastor Joe Garcia takes to the stage with a laugh and a wave. He’s a gregarious-looking man in his early forties with thick dark hair, and a hint of stubble. He’s decked out in a t-shirt and jeans—a far cry from her days at the Vatican. 

She almost groans when he leans against the mic stand, crosses his sneakers and says, “Let’s talk about Satan.”

A small part of her whispers that this is her chance to channel her inner Lucifer and take over the stage. She could give them a talk about the Devil that would petrify them down to their toes. She squashes the fantasy and settles in for an hour of what Lucifer would call “absolute slander.”

The sermon does not disappoint on that front. Chloe focuses on the back of Twila’s head. When the pastor makes a point about how the Devil can destroy a person over and over again through their “weakness for habits, needs, and impulses,” Twila nods vehemently. The service continues in that same vein: stories, moralizing, the absolute certainty that they know exactly who the Devil is and that his deepest desire is to lead them all astray.

Lucifer would have happily have acquiesced, just not in the way they expect, Chloe thinks to herself, feeling surly on his behalf. 

As the service winds down, the pastor ends with, “Our struggles with Satan are essential for growth. It’s imperative that we stand against him and all he represents. As first Peter, chapter 5, verses 8-9 say, ‘Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the Devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour. Resist him, steadfast in the faith, knowing that the same sufferings are experienced by your brotherhood in the world.’” 

The congregation nods and murmurs. 

Not wanting Twila or Bonnie to see her sitting a few rows behind them, Chloe darts out the door as soon as the pastor finishes. She wouldn’t have thought anything of the service a few years ago, but now that she knows the Devil, knows Lucifer Morningstar, she can’t reconcile the Devil so many people are terrified of, with the man that she knows. 

Her church trip offers an interesting insight into Twila Johnson and what’s driving her thought process, at least. Twila is a deeply devout woman, and she’s also deeply upset. That much was clear from the interview and the fervent way she was nodding along during the service. Her heightened emotions could be from involvement in Darren’s murder. Chloe isn’t entirely sure. There’s not enough to pin anything on Twilia, or on Bobby, but the picture is starting to come into focus. 

She doesn’t care for what she sees. 

* * *

Chloe doesn’t go home after her impromptu church service.

The option to join Dan and Trixie at the beach is open. Trixie had waged a campaign to learn how to surf. She’d been so small for so long that Dan hadn’t wanted to teach her until she was a little bigger, but now that her growth spurt has hit and she’s all arms and legs, there’s been no putting her off. 

She doesn’t want to be the black thundercloud hanging over their afternoon together. The silence of her apartment looms too large after what she just sat through. She feels like her bones are going to rattle out of her skin, and she isn’t sure what to do with herself. 

So she goes to Lux. 

Ella took charge of arranging movie night, but it was Maze who suggested Lux as a location. Linda didn’t want to wake the baby, Chloe’s living room and tv are too small, and Ella lives in a shoebox with a chicken in the bathroom. The penthouse is the only real option, even if it feels more like a shrine to the dead than it does a home someone used to live in. 

After Lucifer’s departure, Maze took over running Lux. She passed on the option to move his things into storage and liquidate his assets, claiming she’d get around to it at some point. So Lux stays open, and the penthouse remains the same. Chloe hasn’t been back since the night he left, since she was left crying and brokenhearted on the balcony. 

The penthouse is pristine. Not a thing is out of place. 

She glides through the rooms, poking into every nook and cranny. The piano is covered, and when she peeks into his enormous closet there are rows and rows of bagged up suits. The bed is stripped down, and when she wanders into the kitchen she’s confronted with the empty pantry and fridge. Empty except for a box of Maze’s favorite cereal and a bottle of vodka.

She avoids the balcony. 

She ends up where she always used to. Sitting at the bar. Except there’s dust on it. Something Lucifer would never have tolerated. There’s no pretending that she’s waiting for him to get ready, or that he’ll be walking through the elevator soon. Not with dust on the bar. 

She sighs and drags her finger on the counter, watching the trail she makes through the dust and enjoying the sound of her skin squeaking against the bar top. She wishes they were getting together at a different location, but Maze believes he’ll be back, so she’s seen to it that he has something to come back to.

Chloe’s dust drawing is starting to take on a life of its own, so she abandons it in favor of his personal library. 

She hadn’t spent much time at the penthouse after she had found out about who he really was. And then Eve was in the picture, so there was never an opportunity to linger and admire his space. She runs her fingers over the spines of his books and wishes he were here to tell her how he acquired them or why he found them compelling enough to keep in his home. 

Her fingers stop on a first edition of Frankenstein. She traces the letters on the spine and pulls it out so she can turn the pages with reverence. There’s an inscription on the title page that makes her laugh. From the looks of it, Mary Shelley had been quite flattered Lucifer figured out she was the author, even if her name wasn’t on the book. 

Chloe takes the book back with her to Lucifer’s massive bed. She digs through his cabinets until she finds sheets and a comforter, managing to wear herself out trying to put the enormous bed back together. 

Finally, she kicks off her shoes, crawls in, and settles in to read.

She doesn’t get far into the book before she drops off to sleep. She pulls the covers up to her chin and drifts off. 

* * *

At some point, her soft cocoon acquires another occupant. 

“Why am I always dreaming about you being in bed with me,” Chloe says, more of a mumble, thanks to the pillow mashing her face. She rests a sleepy hand on the side of his face, since he’s practically sharing the pillow with her. “Is this my subconscious trying to make up for something?”

“Maybe I’m dreaming about you being in bed with me?” Lucifer replies, tugging the comforter out of her lax grip and pulling it over their heads. He hums briefly, “Maybe you’re a figment of my imagination, since this is my bed.”

“I doubt your dreams would be this PG.”

“Everything has to start somewhere, and having a beautiful detective grace one’s sheets is as good a starting place as any.” His arm curves around her waist, and he pulls her close. She snuggles against his side.

“Except we didn’t start in bed, and we didn’t end in bed,” Chloe points out. 

“Darling, are you regretting never sleeping with me?” Lucifer sounds almost delighted by the revelation. 

Chloe wrinkles her nose and runs her hand up his back, enjoying the shiver of his skin as she traces his spine. “I am, but I’m not. Does that make sense?”

Lucifer huffs and tucks her head under his chin. “Not really, but you’ve always been frightfully hard to read.”

“I think, if we had slept with each other when we had the chance… it never would have been the right time,” she says, picking her way through the words and trying to find the right fit for her thoughts. She traces her fingers over his shoulder blades. “If I’d slept with you before knowing who you really are, my reaction would have been even worse. Especially after Pierce. I don’t know if we could have come back from that, even as friends. And then there was Eve, and I never want to be the other woman in a relationship.”

Lucifer rubs his chin along the top of her head. Here in his bed, with the covers pulled over their heads, their arms wrapped around each other, she feels safe in a way she hasn’t in a very long time. Safe in bed with the Devil.

“Shortly before Pierce… died,” Lucifer says quietly, “I told Linda that I wanted you to choose me. I’ve spent so much of my life blaming my dad, convinced that he was pulling my strings: anything good in my life was a trap. My dad is the creator of everything and omniscient to boot, after all. I foolishly believed that you were a trap to make me do… well I don’t know what. But I couldn’t trust that you making a decision would be _you_ making that decision. My single-minded quest to ensure your free will meant that I kept important information from you. I guaranteed that it was impossible for you to make any kind of educated choice. And by the time you had… all the eggs, as it were, it wasn’t possible to stay on Earth any longer, but yet again I took away your choice.”

“Lucifer.” Chloe buries her face in his chest. “Lucifer, listen to me. You made mistakes. We’ve all made them. I let myself get turned around by Father Kinley to the point that I didn’t know what to believe. I could have hurt you and sent you back to Hell, and I know you’re there now, and it kills me that you’re in a place you hate. I just… I wish you were here. Actually here. I feel like I’m floating in limbo, and there’s no moving on.”

“I would choose to go back to Hell again and again if it means you’re safe, Chloe.”

They lie there for a moment. Chloe listens to the thump of his heart and can feel the rise and fall of his chest against her. It’s reassuring. As much as a dream can be reassuring. 

“I worry about you down there.” She skates her fingers down his back to his waist and back up again. “I keep thinking how alone you must be. How awful it is. I never did find the courage to ask about Hell after I blundered my early questions, and now my mind keeps making up worst case scenarios.”

Lucifer’s arms tighten around her. “It’s… It’s terrible. I may not have a clue when it comes to humanity, but I’ve been in Hell most of my life. I know how it works, the players, the politics... Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t asked Maze.”

“She’s told me a bit. I think she’s not sure how much she can divulge without me getting emotional.”

“Mmm, yes, Demons aren’t exactly known for their softer sides.”

“That’s just it, she does have a softer side. She’s just not comfortable expressing it. And she’s lost a lot. Eve left and then you.”

Lucifer rolls so that she’s on her back and he’s leaning over her, the covers shifting so the comforter drapes across his back rather than over their heads. 

His dark eyes bore into hers. “Maze is a big girl, Detective. She can handle it.”

“She can, but she shouldn’t have to handle it alone.” Chloe cups his cheek, running her thumb over his cheekbone. “She’s convinced you’re coming back.” 

Lucifer scoffs. 

“No really, She’s convinced. Maze has more faith in you than you give her credit for.” 

Lucifer brushes a hair away from her face and looks down at her. She can barely make him out in the dim light. “And you Chloe, do you have faith?” 

Chloe chews on her lip and thinks. “I’m not a woman who’s ever put stock in faith. But I have hope. Hope that one day I’ll see you again. Until that day… I’ll keep living my life and wishing you were in it.” She threads her fingers through his hair and pulls him down for a kiss.


	7. Chapter 7

Chloe jerks awake, arms and legs flailing as she tries to find purchase on the smooth sheets. Frankenstein tumbles off the bed and lands with a heavy thud on the floor as she scrambles upright.

“Was it a sex dream this time?” Maze says, throwing herself down beside Chloe on the bed. 

Chloe gapes at her, her heart racing, as she struggles to catch up. 

“Ugh. It wasn’t. I can see it in your face. I can throw a box of toys together for you if that would help. I know where Lucifer kept everything.”

“Maze,” Chloe says, her tongue feeling like it’s stuck to the roof of her mouth. 

“What, did church make you too much of a prude?”

Chloe blinks. “How did you know about that?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” 

“Are you stalking me?” 

“You wish,” Maze replies.

Chloe rolls her eyes and pulls the covers up to her shoulder. 

“So, you gonna go off the rails again?”

“Really, Maze? _Really_?”

“What? It’s a valid question. Last time you hung out in church, it didn’t work out so well.”

“I was there to question a suspect!”

“Without me!” Maze points out, sounding aggrieved. 

“I didn’t want to draw too much attention to myself.” 

“I can fit in.” 

Chloe looks at Maze’s leather-clad body. Everything is tight, black, and revealing. She raises an eyebrow. ”The only thing I wanted to do in that church was drag you or Lucifer along and watch the fallout. It was awful Maze. You would have loved it.”

Maze laughs. “I always enjoyed the religious ones. Their faces when they realized where they were.” She licks her lips. “It was delicious. Lucifer always got a kick out of winding them up. It was like poking his finger in his dad’s eye.”

“We never talked about Hell when Lucifer was here.”

“What? Really?” 

Chloe rolls her head against the pillows, rubs her hands over her eyes, and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Things weren’t very good after I found out.” 

Maze scoffs. 

“I asked him some questions that… well, I should have known better, and after that, I didn’t want to remind him about how badly I’d blundered. So we never talked about it. And then he left, and that was that. For all that Lucifer talked about Hell, he didn’t really _talk_ about Hell.” 

Maze snorts. “That’s Lucifer. He tells the truth without telling you anything of value. Don’t worry, Decker. You’re good at calling him on his bullshit. You did better than anyone else, even before you knew that he wasn’t lying and that his dad really is God.”

“Didn’t do a very good job after that.” 

“You just had to get out of your head. Lucifer likes it when you boss him around.” The look Maze shoots her is salacious in the extreme. 

Chloe ignores the implication. “Not that it ever did any good. He still did exactly what he wanted without talking to anyone else.”

“Angels are dicks like that. Lucifer isn’t so bad compared to most of his siblings. They all think they’re better than the rest of us—humans and demons. Lucifer likes wallowing around in humanity; he’s just not used to being told no.”

“And what about you,” Chloe asks. “Are you used to being told no?”

“Only by Lucifer,” Maze says with a smirk. 

“What if I told you no?” 

Maze raises a scarred eyebrow. 

“Does Linda tell you no?” Chloe continues, her fingers playing with the comforter. 

“What’s this about Decker?” 

“I keep thinking we went too far with Bobby.” 

“Whatever. Bobby is guilty. We just gave him a taste of what’s waiting for him.” 

“We don’t know that, Maze. All we have is a hunch, and I can’t stop thinking about what I let Lucifer get away with, and how you and I could have done some real damage yesterday. There are rules in place for a reason and I… let Lucifer stomp all over them. I stomped all over them.”

Maze pokes her in the ribs. “You’ve done better than anyone at putting the brakes on Lucifer. He’s always been like that; he gets an idea in his head, and there’s no stopping him. It made him effective in Hell. Up here—” She shrugs one elegant bare shoulder. “—things get confusing.” 

“Confusing like going full exorcist on a suspect?” 

Maze scoffs. “Oh, please. Kayley texted me this morning and offered me a job.” Maze pulls out her phone and thumbs through her text messages. “They think I’d be a great ‘_addition to the team_,’ and would ‘_drive attendance_’ on their ghost hikes.”

Chloe stares in disbelief.

“I know, right?!” Maze says with dark glee. She throws her head back and cackles. “I’ll stick with being a bounty hunter, but Bobby will be fine.”

“It was still… we still went too far Maze.” 

“Ugh, stop already.” Maze narrows her eyes and licks her lips at the look Chloe gives her. “But I can see you aren’t gonna stop harping on about it, so how about this. Let’s make it a deal. If I help you on a case, I’ll follow your lead unless your life is in danger.” 

“And what’s my side of the deal?” Chloe asks, not entirely sure she’ll like what Maze has to offer.

“You have to untwist your granny panties and actually have fun with me. We go out, we drink, we bemoan our love lives. Maybe even start a bar fight.” 

“That seems one sided.” 

Maze pokes at Chloe’s shoulder and laughs. “You’re fun when you’re drunk, Decker, and I like the company.”

Chloe grumbles and shoves at Maze’s hand to no avail. Maze pulls Chloe over, wrapping her arms around Chloe’s blanket-covered torso and throwing a leg over her hips. 

“Is there a reason we’re cuddling on Lucifer’s bed, Maze?” 

“It looked comfortable.” 

“What’s the real reason.”

“It’s been way too long since I’ve held a woman, and I want to see the look on his face when I tell him I got you into bed first.”

Chloe raises her eyebrows.

“Oh don’t get any ideas, Decker. Think of it as my revenge for being left behind. I didn’t even want to leave, but it would have been nice to be consulted.”

“Are you talking about Lucifer leaving you behind when he went back to Hell, or me leaving you behind when I went to church this morning?”

“Hell? Both. I don’t know. His face will still be worth it.”

Maze wiggles, sighs, and the two of them drift into silence. It’s some time before Maze speaks again. 

“Listen, Chloe, we’re both pining for people, and we should have each other’s backs. One bereft bitch to another. So let’s make one more deal.” 

Chloe mumbles and tilts her head toward Maze. 

“If Eve comes back first, you buy me the new set of knives I’ve had my eye on and cover for us so I can show her a good time. If Lucifer comes back first… I’ll cover for you. Make sure Trixie is squared away and that you and him can have all the private time you want. No interruptions.”

“Lucifer isn’t coming back, Maze.”

“Sure he is.”

“Why are you so convinced that he’s going to return? You could have let the lawyers sell Lux and put his stuff in storage, but you didn’t. Why?”

Maze shrugs. “He hates it down there. He likes to play and have fun on Earth, but in Hell?” Maze shivers. “He’s effective, he’s powerful, he’s everything a King should be. Once he gets the demons sorted out, he’ll start going stir crazy. With you up here and him down there… he’s probably been thinking up loopholes since he got there. And I don’t want to deal with his whining and moaning about his stuff when he comes back. So I left it.”

“Okay fine, since you’re so convinced. Why not, I’ll make that deal. It’s not like it’s going to happen, anyway.”

“So you think,” Maze says, the smirk evident in her voice.

“So if I make a deal with a demon does this mean we should head to a crossroads? Should I pretend to summon you? Oh, I know, I can get some candles and some chalk paint and draw a pentagram. Should I wear white or black? Oh, will there be a blood pact?”

“I liked you better when you were scared and freaking out.” 

“Should I play up the weeping ingenue or, oh, maybe a woman scorned? Even better: the bride of Satan upset that she’s been left at the altar!” 

“Are you done?” Maze asks, her expression deadpan. “Get it all out of your system?”

Chloe smirks and nods. 

“Good. Now what’s this stupid movie you were going on about the other day? Ghost? Is that the one we’re watching tonight?”

* * *

When Ella arrives, she bounces in with a case of beer. She thumps the beer down on the bar and beams at Chloe. 

Chloe is sure her own face is saying everything words aren’t, judging by Ella’s big smile. The case of beer looks out of place on Lucifer’s bar. It’s also reminding her a little too closely of her current case and how her life went from being soaked in whiskey to drowning in beer. 

She picks up one of the bottles and raises an eyebrow.

Ella returns her look with far too blatant innocence. “What? I’ve been meaning to try this place out. They let you mix and match craft beer instead of buying the same thing.” She thrusts a bottle into Chloe’s hands. 

Chloe turns it around. ‘Samael’s Oak Aged Ale,’ it proclaims. White angel wings loom ominously out of the darkness of the label. 

Ella finishes arranging the rest of the random assortment of bottles on the bar and shrugs. “We're meeting up at Lucifer's empty penthouse. How could I not buy a beer that reminded me of him. And then I thought about how much he would have hated this, and then that made me smile and miss him. So I had to get it.”

Chloe laughs. “He would hate this. I can practically hear the rant in my head.” 

Ella effects a bad British accent, “Detective. I would never be caught drinking this swill.” 

Maze wanders in from the bedroom, plucks a bottle of beer from the assortment, bites the cap off, and takes a swig. She leans over Chloe’s shoulder and smirks. “If you ever want to rile Lucifer up, that will do it.”

“Have you heard from him at all?” Ella asks, glancing around the penthouse as if he’ll come bounding out at any moment. “I totally thought he’d have his family stuff wrapped up and be back by now.”

“I don’t think he’s coming back, Ella. His responsibilities are pretty serious,” Chloe says. 

“That’s not fair of his family to just dump this stuff on him. He has a life out here; you’d think they would understand that.” Ella blows out a frustrated breath. 

“Is everything okay, Ella?” Chloe asks, 

“Oh, everything is fine, we’re just coming up on a year, we're meeting up at his creepy empty place, and I still don’t know what happened. Lucifer left, and then Eve left, and all this right after Charlie was kidnapped and the massacre at the Mayan, and I just really want to know what’s going on.” 

“He went back to Hell,” Maze says bluntly. 

Ella throws her arms up. “He went home, he went to Hell, he went back to his responsibilities. What does that even mean? I thought we were his friends, and he just left.” 

“Ella…” Chloe says. 

“I’m sorry, Chloe. I don’t know why I’m so mad. I shouldn’t be this worked up about it.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m upset too. I miss him, and it’s been hard going to work every day knowing he’s not going to be there. He drove me crazy, and I wanted to strangle him more than once, but I wish he were back. And I think... maybe we’re all feeling this way, because we’re coming up on the first anniversary of Lucifer being gone and…” Chloe shrugs and gestures at the penthouse. 

“Yeah, being in his place, with it looking like he just stepped out…” Ella’s laugh rings hollow. She peels the label off her beer. “Give me more information, and I’ll figure out which weird cult his family belongs too. It’ll be a road trip. Save Lucifer!” She glances over at Chloe. “I have a newsletter and everything. Most of the precinct is on it.”

Maze rolls her eyes. “He’s in Hell. He’s actually the Devil, and he went back to Hell.”

“Okaaaaay. Still weird that you guys are so attached to these roles. But Maze, why didn’t you go with him?”

“I wanted to, at one point. We even fought about it once. But with Linda and Charlie… I wouldn’t go back. I gotta look after my humans.” Maze’s gaze lands on Chloe when she says the last line, and even though Chloe knows she wouldn’t admit it out loud, Maze had rolled Chloe back into the short list of “her” humans. And not just because of Lucifer. 

The elevator dings, and Linda strolls in with bags of takeout in hand. She takes a quick look around and says, “Well, this seems tense.”

Ella waves a hand in Linda’s direction and chirps a somewhat watery, “Hi,” at her. Maze grimaces, and Chloe just sighs.

“So movie night,” Linda says.

* * *

They pull Lucifer’s TV out of the closet it normally inhabits. ‘Dad forbid it ruin his aesthetic,’ Chloe thinks as she and Ella arrange the TV in front of his Italian leather couch, plugging it in and trying to figure out what remotes go with what. 

Linda handles the takeout, spreading the boxes on the coffee table. Chloe throws herself onto the couch with a groan after the TV has been figured out. She feels like she just ran a technological marathon. Linda pushes one of the takeout containers toward her, and Chloe clutches it happily, feeling the warmth seep into her fingers. 

“I’ve been looking forward to this,” Linda says, digging into her food. “Charlie has been teething and clingy, and a night off to gaze upon the wonder that is Patrick Swayze is just what this Doctor needs.” 

“She won’t stop talking about him,” Maze mumbles around her egg roll. 

“I was a bit too young for the Swayze craze,” Chloe says. “Justin Timberlake, though…”

“Oh, girl. I feel you on that one,” Ella says, holding her fist out for a bump. 

Linda shushes them and gazes raptly at the screen, where a shirtless Swayze is hammering down part of a wall. Maze rolls her eyes. They sit in silence, watching the movie, picking at their food and enjoying each other’s company. 

An image of an angel swinging from the ropes is front and center on the screen. Maze barks out a laugh from where she’s slumped against Linda on the couch. “Hey Linda, does stuff like this turn you on now? Do you see angel wings and dissolve into a puddle of lust?”

“Maze,” Linda says, but the laugh is evident in her tone.

“Oh you do!” Maze says, delighted. “Does he let you touch them?” Her voice lowers, “Do you take care of all his itchy bits?” 

Ella looks baffled, and Chloe focuses on the screen. Linda laughs and shakes her head, happy to go along with Maze’s good-natured ribbing. Maze pokes Linda harder. “Let’s compare, between Lucifer and Amenadiel, who’s the better lay?” 

“Why would she know that?” Ella asks. 

“Because she’s slept with both of them.”

Ella sits up and gapes at Linda, completely ignoring the movie. 

“Oh, this is a good part,” Linda says, focusing on the television. Sam and Molly mold clay, their movements tender and loving. 

Maze grumbles as the characters fall into bed. “She didn’t even get his pants off.” She glances Chloe’s way. “Hey Chloe, is this what does it for you? You need it slow and tender? Pants on at all times?”

“Maze,” Linda says slowly, over the rim of her wine glass. “What’s going on?”

“What? Isn’t this supposed to be what girls do at movie night? Sit around, drink, and talk about the men they’ve boned or want to bone?”

“Generally, yes, but that’s not the only thing girls night is for, which you well know. So tell me Maze. Why are you trying so hard to push the conversation that way?”

“Are you trying to psychoanalyze me, Linda?” Maze shakes her head and sneers. “It won’t work. I’m the original psycho.”

Linda tilts her head. “That’s not true, Maze. You’re my best friend and an excellent aunt to Charlie. You had a rough upbringing, but not only have you adapted, you’ve thrived, and you’re doing the same now. We’re your friends, and we’re not going to let you push us away.” 

Maze turns her head to stare out at the penthouse. It’s dark and still outside of the warm circle of the couches. The movie plays on, almost forgotten. Linda tugs on her arm, pulling Maze closer. She tucks an arm around Maze’s shoulders. 

“For the record,” Linda says, “Lucifer was more creative, some of the most amazing sex of my life, but Amenadiel is more heartfelt.” 

Ella goggles at her as Maze bursts out laughing.

“And yes, I do get to touch ‘them,’” Linda says, taking a self-satisfied sip of her beer. 

Maze laughs harder. Chloe buries herself in her beer and the movie. Jealousy rages in her heart, and she glances towards the balcony. The only time she’d seen Lucifer’s wings. That oh so brief moment.

“I’m missing the euphemism,” Ella says. There’s a long pause. “Linda, what the hell, wasn’t Lucifer a patient?” 

“Mmmm, yes.” 

“Isn’t that... unethical?”

“Oh, very.” 

“What the hell, Linda?” Ella says again, waving her hands around. Followed by, “Oh my God, they’re brothers. You exchanged one brother for another.” 

Linda shrugs. “It just kind of happened.”

Ella slumps back, beer in hand. She shoots a quick glance Chloe’s direction and mumbles something about, “knowing all about that.”

Maze laughs against Linda’s shoulder, and Chloe watches from the sidelines, happy the tension has dissipated and her friends are slowly unwinding. 

As long as Lucifer is gone, there will always be a hole. Her heart still aches, thinking about all the could-have beens in her life, but as weird as it is, she’s healing. Day by day the pain is a little more manageable. 

“So are we just treating Lucifer’s penthouse like some super expensive crash pad until he gets back?” Ella says, idly watching the TV. 

“Maze thinks he’s coming back, so she won’t touch anything.” 

“It is kind of creepy,” Linda says. “Nothing has changed. Here we are almost a year later, and it feels like he’s going to walk in on us and make some kind of inappropriate comment about an orgy.”

Maze sits up straight and glares at the TV. “That’s what a medium is? A scam artist convincing humans they talk to the dead?” She tilts her head and regards the action on the screen. “I admire the hustle. If they’re dumb enough to believe her, they deserve to be scammed.”

“Awww,” Ella says. “I can sympathize. We don’t know what happens after someone dies, and it’s easy to be taken in when you just want to know if they’re all right.” 

“Speaking from experience, Ella?” 

“A little bit; it’s part of why I go to church and believe in the Big Guy. We all want a little reassurance that we’re not completely alone in life.” 

“Take Chloe with you next time. She went to church this morning.”

All eyes turn to Chloe. She takes a sip of her beer, trying to ignore the questioning looks. 

Ella’s eyes are wide. She bounces in place. “Oh man, Chloe, if you want to give church a try, you should come with me.” She leans her hand against her fist. “Tell me everything, how did you like it?”

“I was there to question a suspect. I ended up sitting through the service, and I don’t know, I didn’t like it much. But I think that was mainly because of the topic.” 

Ella raises her eyebrows. Her question unvoiced.

“Overcoming Satan,” Chloe grits out. 

The room dissolves into laughter. 

Maze and Linda howl with laughter, and Ella curls up on the floor clutching her stomach. Chloe sips her beer. 

“Next time,” Ella says through her giggles, “you come with me, Chloe. I’m not sure if that was the right church for you.” 

“It was for work,” Chloe protests.

Ella pats her on the hand. 

Maze leers at her. “Forget ‘Overcoming Satan,’ my girl Chloe is ready for ‘Coming with Satan.’”

Chloe sets her beer down and covers her face with her hands. 

Linda takes a sip of wine. “Not to be the downer in the room, but Chloe, why were you working on your day off? Do we need to have a talk about work-life balance?”

“I didn’t want the lead to get cold.” 

Linda sighs. 

Maze growls and her attention snaps back to the movie. “Are those supposed to be demons?” She asks, anger simmering in her voice. 

“I always thought so,” Linda replies. 

“That is not how this works. This movie is garbage. Who wrote this? I need to pay them a visit.” Her karambit flicks into her hand, from where, Chloe isn’t sure. “Demons do not drag the damned to hell.”

“How does it work?” Ella asks, putting her beer down on the coffee table. “I mean, in your head. Like…” She waves her hand around as she searches for the right wording. “What’s your hell head canon?”

“You don’t believe me when I tell you I’m a demon, so why ask?” Maze glares.

“I dunno, I’m kinda drunk, and it’s a fun story you’ve cooked up.”

Maze snorts and cocks her head. Her dark eyes look Ella up and down. “No one drags anyone to Hell. Humans send themselves. Soul-deep guilt, and off they tumble into the Pit.” 

“Into their rooms,” Chloe murmurs. 

Maze’s eyes meet hers, and she nods. “Into their rooms,” Maze agrees. “They put themselves there. Most are tormented by their own guilt. Some grab the attention of demons. Only a few warrant Lucifer’s attention.”

“Did you guys work this out at some point?”

Maze tilts her head.

“You and Lucifer? Did you sit down and figure it all out together? It’s a really interesting theory I haven’t heard anywhere else. You should pitch it. I’m sure there’s a horror movie in there somewhere, and you could make bank.”

“Someday,” Maze says slowly. “You’ll believe me, and I am going to feast on your terror.”

“Okaaaay,” Linda says, drawing out the word. “How about we table this conversation, sit back with our drinks, and enjoy the rest of the movie. I still need to get my full Swayze fix.”

“He’s not that handsome,” Maze grumbles under her breath. Chloe nods in agreement. She’s never seen the appeal either. 

* * *

_Ghost_ ends, and at Ella’s urging they put on _To Wong Foo Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar_. The atmosphere has turned quiet and sleepy, Chloe lays her head on the back of the couch, closing her eyes and enjoying the low rumble of the television accompanied by Maze and Ella’s quiet laughter. 

The couch dips next to her, and Chloe forces her eyes open, trying to blink away her exhaustion. Linda shifts over and curls up next to Chloe, one foot tucked up underneath her. 

“How are you doing?” Linda asks, her voice soft. Maze and Ella don’t pay any attention. 

Chloe runs her hands over the expensive couch, brushing a few crumbs from dinner onto the floor. She makes a mental note to find a broom later. “Fine, I’m doing fine.” 

Linda raises an eyebrow. The expression on her face is one of mild disbelief. “After the conversation tonight and the… location, I’d be surprised if you weren’t feeling a little wrung out.”

Chloe looks up at the tiled ceiling. “It’s this investigation,” she tells Linda slowly. “This case keeps hitting me in the face with Devil imagery.” 

“What do you think that means?” Linda asks. 

“Probably not much. Luck of the draw on cases, and my suspects are just weird?” Chloe stifles a laugh. “But who knows? I had a partner who was convinced that his dad, who is God, is controlling everything. So maybe what I’m seeing as coincidence really is signs and portents.”

“If we follow that thread to its natural conclusion, that means what? God is telling you to look out, something Devil-related is about to happen?”

Chloe grins. “Is this a therapy session, Doctor Martin?”

“No, this is a friend checking in with another.”

Chloe nods. “We make our own choices,” she says with firm conviction. “Not God. He’s not controlling my actions, or Lucifer’s actions, or anyone’s. The Devil didn’t make anyone do it, neither did God. This case with all its Devil occult weirdness: it’s a coincidence. Plenty of people are into that stuff. It’s religion; it’s hard to avoid. It just seems like it’s more than it is because we know that there’s truth to it.”

“But what if it’s a sign?” Linda prods.

“Of what? Maze seems to think Lucifer is coming back, but even if he walked through the door right now, I still don’t think that this case is a sign the Devil is on his way to Earth.”

Linda leans back against the couch and rolls her head against the back cushion. “I worry about Lucifer down there.” 

Chloe feels the ever present fear and anxiety start crawling it’s way up her throat. “Me too,” she croaks out.

“I’m so proud of him. He’s worked so hard over the past few years to accept who he is and be responsible, but I wish it had never come to the point that he had to go back to a place that’s caused so much trauma.”

Chloe nods mutely. 

“I’m a terrible therapist,” Linda says. “I came over to comfort you and see how you’re doing, and I’m making it worse.” 

“He was your friend too.” 

“More than that to you though,” Linda points out. 

Chloe nods and wipes at her eyes. She tries to watch the screen but ends up watching as Maze cracks a joke and elbows Ella, who collapses against her on the floor, laughing. 

“I keep having dreams,” she admits. “About Lucifer. Every night for the past few days.” 

“Oh?” Linda shifts next to her. “What’s going on in these dreams.” 

“Honestly, not much. We laze around in bed and talk. That’s pretty much it.” 

“Would you consider the atmosphere and conversation to be intimate?”

Chloe props her chin on her hand. “Yeah, very intimate. Not… sexually, but more like pillow talk.”

“Have you considered that your subconscious might be constructing these dreams around a relationship you never had with Lucifer but wanted? You were partners for over three years, but pillow talk and, correct me if I’m wrong, the conversations two people have when they love each other and want to be in a relationship, are a step beyond stakeouts and friendship.”

“You’re not wrong. Our relationship never… made it that far. But It’s nice, these dreams,” Chloe says. “It feels like I can be open with him in a way I never was before. Except I wake up, and it’s just a dream, and I feel lonely and stupid for wanting it so bad.” She laughs, short and harsh. “Maze keeps being disappointed they’re not sex dreams.”

“You know better than to listen to Maze about this, Chloe.”

“Yeah. She’s trying though”

Linda blows out a harsh breath. “I’m sorry, Chloe. I know this has been hard on you. You two shared… so much, and I don’t want to dredge it up. Like I told Maze earlier, we’re your friends, and we’re here for you.” 

“I appreciate that, Linda. I really do.” 

“Come over and cuddle Charlie sometime. I know you can’t resist the baby snuggles.” 

“Just you wait,” Chloe murmurs back. “The toddler tantrums are coming.” 

“Don’t remind me.” 

* * *

The tribe stumbles out of the penthouse late, tipsy and happy, passing without a second glance the line of patrons waiting to get into Lux. There’s a blur of hugs and drunken ramblings as they wait for their Ubers, and finally it’s just Maze and Chloe. 

Maze nods at her, sober as she can be, and strides off toward the car park. 

Chloe sighs and tilts her head back, purse in hand. If she goes home, she’ll have to Uber back tomorrow for her car, but if she stays… she’s already taken over Lucifer’s bed once tonight, and there is the matter of cleaning up after their movie night. They’d done their best, but drunk women cleaning late at night… she’s sure they missed something. 

She makes her way back upstairs, ditches her clothes in a pile and climbs into bed. 

Fingers skate down her bare back, tracing her spine and lingering over tired muscles. Chloe murmurs into the pillow. The fingers press harder, and she groans appreciatively as they work out the knots and kinks that have been building up over the last week. Over the past year.

The bed shifts as her partner kneels beside her, pushing against her bare shoulder. She obliges, rolling onto her front and pillowing her face on her arms. His fingers dig in even harder. He works his way from her neck down to the small of her back, sheets rustling as he shifts, and she giggles when one hand skates over the swell of her ass briefly before working back up her spine. 

The massage feels wonderful, and Chloe sinks into the mattress, becoming more and more boneless. Toward the end he’s doing nothing more than running his hand up and down her back, gentle strokes that leave her feeling dozy and content. 

Chloe groans and rolls over, dislodging Lucifer’s hand on her back, and gazes up at him as he kneels next to her. She runs her hand along his face, her thumb running along his cheekbone. His stubble is prickly against her palm. 

“You can look, you know,” Chloe says, feeling brave and still slightly drunk. The room is dim, but there’s enough ambient light to make out his features. His eyes don’t dip once, and Chloe wants nothing more in this moment than to be seen by him. 

“I wouldn’t dare presume,” Lucifer says. He pulls up the covers, dislodging Chloe’s hand, and tucks the blankets around her delicately. He sits back on his knees, still completely dressed, and looks around. His gaze is warm. “I’m going to take an educated guess and assume that your lack of atrocious kitty pajamas means you’ve had more to drink tonight than you anticipated.” 

Chloe bites her lower lip. “Movie night with the tribe. We took over the penthouse.” 

“I see you didn’t leave.” 

“Didn’t feel like it,” Chloe murmurs. “Your bed is comfortable.”

“I’ve been telling you that for years.” He sighs dramatically. “Better late than never I suppose.”

She rolls her eyes, bringing her other hand up and around his neck, drawing him down so she can kiss him. His lips are soft, and the kiss is gentle. They linger there, getting to know the shape of each other’s mouths.

Lucifer pulls away with a moan and looks down at her, a banked fire sparking in the back of his eyes. 

“We’re worried about you,” Chloe says. “We watched cheesy Patrick Swayze movies and took over your couch.”

“Chloe,” he says, lingering over the syllables of her name as he brushes the hair back from her face. “There is nothing to worry about, darling. I have ruled in hell for eons; it is mine to command.” 

“But you’re alone.”

“Hard to be alone when you’re surrounded by the best and brightest demonkind has to offer.” 

Chloe does not miss the sarcasm in his voice. “But it’s not the same, Lucifer.” She pulls the covers up higher and clutches them to her chin. “I miss you. So much. And I have so many questions and regrets. I regret that we didn’t have more time. I don’t regret turning you down so many times, but now that you’re gone I wish that I was able to say yes. Just one time. Yes.” 

Lucifer’s exhale is watery and slightly broken. He kneels next to her like a supplicant. “My regrets could fill an ocean.” He tells her, drawing her hand up to ghost a kiss over her knuckles. “But I don’t regret keeping you safe.” 

He leans over and kisses her again, harder this time. Chloe nips at his lips and runs her hands through his hair, twining his curls around her fingers. 

He gasps as Chloe ruffles through his hair. 

She pulls out of the kiss and smirks up at him. He’s still crouched over her, an arm braced on either side of her head, his knees to one side of her body. 

He may have compunctions about looking at her when she’s had too much to drink, but Chloe doesn’t have the same restrictions. He’s as beautiful as she remembers, more so even. His body is tense with want, and it’s obvious that he yearns to do more than just kiss her. 

“I never knew you liked having your hair played with,” Chloe murmurs, mussing his hair even further. 

“It’s, ah, been a while since I’ve had hair.” He groans, arching into her touch. “There’s not been much occasion to wear this face in Hell. It’s a rather novel sensation after so long.”

Chloe’s eyebrows draw together, and concern radiates through her body. The anxiety comes roaring back. 

Lucifer shifts and lies down next to her. She rolls into his arms and continues running her hand through his hair. His eyes close, and he rumbles deep in his chest. They’re pressed together, blanket burrito to chest. He’s so close, and yet so very far away. 

“Please tell me that your delightful buzz is the result of some truly sublime whiskey, and if so please describe it in excruciating detail.” 

Chloe smiles and strokes the nape of his neck. The squirm that results is delightful so she does it again. 

“We had beer,” she says.

“Ugh. Typical.” 

“There’s no alcohol in Hell?” Chloe asks, brushing a kiss over his jawline. 

“I suppose you could call it alcohol. The demons have a brew that they all love, but the taste is truly atrocious. Imagine dirty socks left to ferment in swamp water. It’s absolutely wretched. I’d rather have beer, as much as I dislike it.” 

“I wish you could have been with us tonight.” She places another kiss on the bow of his upper lip. 

“And ruin ladies night? I wouldn’t dare.” 

“I think we could make an exception for a man who knows more about makeup than the rest of us combined.” 

“Oh please, as if you talk about makeup. I know how these things go. The lot of you are filthy, absolutely _filthy_.”

“And you’d be deep in the filth with us.” 

He nods, conceding the point. 

Chloe pushes on his shoulder. She wrestles her way out of the comforter as he rolls onto his back. She takes the opportunity to straddle him, blankets pulled around her like a cape. Sober Chloe would never dream of doing this. Good thing she’s currently drunk Chloe. 

Lucifer’s gaze doesn’t waver from her face. 

Chloe harrumphs, feeling brave and bold, and grabs his hands, placing them on the bare skin of her hips. He rests them there, his thumbs tracing circles against her skin, but not moving. 

“Why not?” Chloe asks, tossing her hair over her shoulders. 

“Because you’ve been drinking, and this isn’t real.” He swallows. “It wouldn’t be the same.” 

“I feel like that should be my line,” she replies, rolling off of him and throwing herself down on the mattress with a thump. “This is my dream, and of course I dream that the Devil himself won’t get freaky with me.”

She buries her face in her pillow and groans. 

He laughs. “An adult woman who’s been drinking and refers to sex as getting ‘freaky’ may not be in the right mind to have sex. Even in her dreams.”

“The dream Devil won’t have sex with me,” Chloe says. Her eyes widen. “I really am a prude.” 

Lucifer stifles a laugh. Chloe glares at him. 

“Darling, I would have you every way I could, but a dream facsimile is by no means as fulfilling as either of us would want it to be.” 

Chloe’s glare intensifies. Lucifer doesn’t bother to hide his smile. He props himself on his elbow and looks down at her, his expression turning more pensive. “If I was able to come back… Would you still want to?”

Chloe peeks out from her pillow and squints at him. “Would I still want to have sex with you?” she mumbles out. 

“Would you still want me in your life?” Lucifer’s fingers pluck at the sheets. “I’m sure you’ve had time to acclimate to my absence. If I were able to come back… would you want me to? Even as just a friend and maybe work partner?”

The question has Chloe scrambling to her knees. She tugs the sheet loose and wraps it around herself, feeling much more exposed. “Yes please, I want you back. As a friend, a partner, and maybe this time as more. Are you… are you coming back?”

Lucifer’s brow furrows. “I’d like to. Oh, Chloe, I’d like nothing more.”

He opens his arms and Chloe crawls into them. He’s kind enough not to comment on the tears she tries to surreptitiously wipe away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll have y'all know I watched Ghost for the first time to write this chapter. It was better than I thought it would be. 
> 
> Samael’s Oak Aged Ale is a real beer. [Avery Brewing](https://www.averybrewing.com/beers/samael-s) up in Boulder, CO makes it if anyone is interested.


	8. Chapter 8

Chloe leaves the penthouse as spotless as she found it. Crumbs cleaned up, bed made… The place looks beautiful and pristine and cold. 

She steps onto the elevator and doesn’t look back. There’s no point in lingering. She’s wallowed, she’s done now, and it’s time to get back to life. 

It’s mid afternoon when she walks into the precinct. It’s still her day off, and Linda’s admonitions from the night before echo in her head, but she still settles in with paperwork and tries to make headway on her backlog. 

It’s only when the sun is getting low in the sky, the fabled California golden hour lining the office with light, that her trance is interrupted by her cell phone going off. 

“Decker,” she answers, tucking the cell phone between her ear and shoulder so she can continue clicking away on her computer. 

The voice on the other end is frightened, but familiar. She grabs her jacket, keys, and badge, and runs for the door. 

* * *

Uniforms are already at Birch Brewing when Chloe pulls up. 

An ambulance is parked in front of the entrance, its back doors flung open. Anne Birch looks wan as paramedics load her stretcher into the back. Her shoulder is soaked with blood, an oxygen mask strapped to her face. 

The bullet scar on Chloe’s shoulder twinges in sympathy, a souvenir from her first case with Lucifer and the first sign he was more than he was. There were so many signs she’d ignored in favor of her own reality. 

Bobby leans against Kayley off to the side of the entrance. He’s pale and shaky as he clutches at his girlfriend. Bonnie, Twila’s friend from church, is crying and wringing her hands farther down the sidewalk. 

Chloe flashes her badge at an approaching uni. 

“What happened?” she asks, brusque and all business as she reaches the brewery. 

“My mom…” Bobby says weakly. 

The doors shut on the ambulance. Bobby pauses to watch as the sirens start and Anne is whisked away. He shakes himself. “It was my mom.” His voice is firm. “She shot Anne, and I think she killed my uncle.” 

“Where is she now?”

Bobby shakes his head. 

“Bobby. I need you to focus. I need to find your mom before anyone else gets hurt.” 

“Bobby,” Kayley says, her voice sweet and gentle, like she’s approaching an animal that might lash out. “Tell Detective Decker what happened. You can’t… Bobby, your mom is an adult, and she’s done some awful things. You can’t shield her from the consequences.” She wraps an arm around Bobby’s shoulders and pulls him in tight. 

“This is my fault.” Bonnie’s southern drawl is amplified by her tears. “She’d been praying so ardently for Bobby, and I thought… I thought it was just so sad that they’d had a falling out. I told her that maybe we should visit Bobby at the brewery. Have a few beers, sit around and laugh. Get some good mother-son bonding going on.” Bonnie sniffs and wrings her hands. “We walked into the brewery, and she saw Bobby sitting with his lady friend here and just lost it. She started screaming at them, telling them they’d go to Hell for their sins. That poor lady the ambulance just took away tried to intervene, and Twila pulled a gun out of her handbag and shot her.” She looks at Kayley, “I am so sorry, honey. I had no idea she’d act like that.”

Bobby sniffs and nods, Kayley buries her face in Bobby’s hair. 

“I didn’t even know she had a gun,” Bonnie says, her distraught voice climbing in pitch. “She knows I don’t like them, and she had it in my car without telling me! And then she took off. _With my car_!”

“Do you have any idea where Twila went?” Chloe asks. 

Bonnie shrugs. “She has family east of here. I think they work in Barstow.” 

Bobby shakes his head. “She wouldn’t go there. She doesn’t get along with them either. They think she’s crazy.”

Chloe taps her foot. “I’ll put a BOLO out, but we’re losing valuable time. Any information you have, we’ll follow up on.”

“Would she go back to where your uncle died?” Kayley asks. 

“Why would she do that?” Bobby says. He looks baffled, and Chloe raises her eyebrows, prompting for more information. 

“When we were planning the ghost walk, Darren mentioned he knew Rand from way back when, that they had been friends. I don’t know if you were around for that conversation, but maybe that’s why Darren was at that picnic table. Bobby, what if your mom knew Rand too? Maybe…” Kayley waves her hand around. “Maybe it has some meaning to her.”

“It’s in the middle of nowhere,” Bobby says. 

“When has your mom ever thought logically though?” Kayley argues back. “When you moved in with Anne and Darren she threw a tantrum on their lawn. There was screaming and crying all because you told her to call and ask to come over instead of just showing up.”

“Kayley has a point,” Chloe says, cutting off whatever Bobby was about to say. “She’s devout; she’s also killed her brother and injured her sister-in-law. If the murder scene means something to her…” 

Bonnie tugs at Bobby’s sleeve. “She always seemed so… dedicated to doing the Lord’s work. I would… She never gave any indication that something was wrong. That she was capable of doing something so evil.”

“I’ll get that BOLO out, but Bobby, if she contacts you, I need to know right away.” 

“I’m coming with you,” Bobby says. He shakes Bonnie off.

“Bobby, no,” Kayley whispers. 

“I have to, Kayley,” Bobby tells her. “She’s my mom, and this is my fault.” 

“It’s no one’s fault except Twila’s. No one made her pull the trigger,” Chloe says. 

Bobby shakes his head. “I know that, Detective, but it still feels like my fault, and if I can help you find her without someone else getting hurt... I need to take responsibility for my actions too.” His eyes meet hers. “I’m not sure if she killed my Uncle, but I suspected. I should have told you, but I was scared.” 

“Bobby. I can’t take you with me. Stay here. I’ll keep you informed as soon as we find her.”

She heads back to her cruiser, phone in hand, firing off a text to Maze. 

* * *

The sky grows darker and darker the farther Chloe drives into Griffith Park. Massive clouds loom over the park. She threads her cruiser along narrow park roads as the fading light illuminates the edges of a thundercloud. The scrubby landscape and shadows make for an ominous drive. 

Chloe knows she’s been reading too much into this case. The occult, the Devil imagery, all of it. She has a traitorous heart that can’t help but whisper “signs and portents” when her brain is firmly in the land of “suck it up and deal.” 

Suck it up and deal means following Kayley’s hunch, partnerless and on her own, against precinct policy. Chloe tilts her head as her headlights illuminate Bonnie’s blue Prius tucked behind a scrubby tree. In the dark, the car is easy to miss. 

She pulls in behind it, blocking the car from leaving. If Twila manages to make it back to her vehicle, she won’t make it very far and, as far as Chloe is concerned, the only car Twila will be leaving in is the back of her police cruiser.

Her phone dings. Chloe checks the text message, types out a quick response and places a quick call to dispatch, letting them know she’s located the suspect, and to send backup. 

She grabs her flashlight and gun and takes off for the picnic table. 

The walk is a long one. Chloe keeps her flashlight tilted at the ground so she doesn’t give herself away. She walks as silently as she can, cringing when she steps on the dead leaves that litter the road. 

She finds Twila exactly where Kayley said she would be: sitting at the picnic table.

“Twila Johnson,” Chloe says, putting all the authority into her voice she can manage. She aims her gun at the ground, holding it ready should she need it. “You are under arrest for the murder of Darren Birch and the shooting of Anne Birch. Put your hands above your head where I can see them.” 

The fallen tree looms large and dark next to Twila, a twisted mess of branches lying heavy on the table. A thundercloud above rumbles, and lightning illuminates Twila, who is small and hunched next to the tree. 

She’s gently stroking the wood of the table. Her other hand clutches a silver object that Chloe can’t quite make out. 

“Twila Johnson, stand up with your hands where I can see them,” Chloe says again, taking a few steps forward. 

Twila’s fingers twitch. “I didn’t mean to kill Darren,” she croaks out. “I didn’t mean to shoot Anne.” 

“Twila, no one else needs to get hurt.” 

Twila shakes her head and stands up. She’s holding a lighter in one hand. A tiny silver lighter that she flicks with her thumb so a small flame dances above it. The dry brush beneath her feet crunches as she takes a step backwards. “It’s this place. It started here. Don’t you see, this is where the rot started, Detective. It started here, with Rand. It spread to Darren, and now it’s spread to Bobby. Oh God, Bobby. I can’t… I can’t let it go any further. I have to stop it. 

“Twila.” Chloe holds out the hand that isn’t on her gun. “Twila, It’s okay. Close the lighter, and let’s talk. Take a deep breath, and let’s all stop for a moment and think.”

“I am thinking!” Twila shrieks. Her lighter wavers as her hand shakes. Thunder rumbles in the distance. “I’m thinking that I was supposed to marry Rand, and he left me for that _actress_. I’m thinking that he was Darren’s best friend, and Darren could never let him go. It was Rand’s death that sent Darren over the edge. That made him question. And that same rot has spread to Bobby. This place must be purified. I have to do this.”

Panting breaths and the sound of running feet filter through the night air. Chloe risks a glance over her shoulder. Bobby charges down the road, Kayley hot on his heels. 

“Mom!” he shouts, skidding to a stop next to Chloe. “What… Mom. What are you _doing_?”

“Ridding you of the rot of this place, Bobby. It’s infected you. Rand’s poison seeping through.”

“Rand? _Christ_. Mom, that was years ago. I’m sorry he hurt you, but he’s dead. You can’t _burn down_ Griffith Park because some guy cheated on you forty years ago.” 

“You don’t understand, Bobby.” She sobs. “Darren turned your head. He led you away from the light. I raised you as best I could and you… threw it in my face.” She looks at Kayley, and her face twists. “Now you’re cavorting with demons and worshipping the Devil.”

“She’s not a demon, mom! Her name is Kayley... and I love her,” he says over a peal of thunder. He’s shaking with anger, but Chloe can see the fear in his eyes. 

“Kayley,” Twila spits, the lighter shaking in her hand. “If you hadn’t have met Kayley, if you hadn’t moved in with my stupid, rotten brother… Life was good, Bobby, and they ruined it all. The Devil has been whispering in your ear!”

Chloe takes a step forward, ready to end this, ready to be done with this case and go home. “Burning this place isn’t going to help. The Devil doesn’t make anyone do anything. Our choices are our own, and you need help. Close the lighter, and let us help you.” 

Twila backpedals over the dry grass. “Don’t take another step,” she shouts, “or you’ll all go up with me.”

“Me too, Mom?” Bobby asks plaintively. “You said you were doing this for me. Would you really?”

Twila takes a deep breath and says, “_Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains of which I shall tell you._” 

She drops the lit lighter. 

“Mom!” Bobby shrieks as Kayley latches onto his arm and starts dragging him back toward the road. 

Chloe’s feet feel like lead, and her breath stutters in her chest as the dry grass catches fire. Rain hasn’t fallen in months. The entire park will go up in flames if she doesn’t stop it. Panic starts ringing in Chloe’s head as the fire eats at the ground and creates a wall of flame between her and Twila. 

Twila is visible through the flames, her face lifted to the heavens, her mouth moving in what Chloe can barely make out as a prayer over the crackling fire. 

With a gust of wind, the fire is licking at the base of the picnic table, and flames climb up the drooping branches of the fallen tree. 

The shadows behind Twila twist as something moves in the dark. 

Chloe backs away from the fire, hope rising with each beat of her heart.

Darkness slithers on silent feet and pounces out of shadow to tackle Twila through the flames. Twila shrieks and claws at her attacker, but Maze drags her down like a leopard on a kill. Thunder rumbles as lightning strikes nearby, illuminating Maze’s feral smile. 

Maze leans in and moans. “You smell devout. Mmmm.” Twila whimpers.

Maze smiles, satisfied, and pulls Twila out of the dry grass as flames start licking around her boots. She holds Twila aloft with one fist and laughs. Twila dangles above Maze, her feet kicking, and she grasps at the fist wrapped around her blouse. 

“The fun I had with true believers in Hell. I always did love the looks on their faces when they finally realized they were in the Pit.” The fire grows so it’s eating its way up Maze’s thighs. “Lucifer always likes playing with the religious ones. You’ll fit right in. Do you suppose I should send you to him as a gift?” 

Twila screams.

“We have to go,” Chloe croaks. She licks her lips, watching in terror as the flames grow and spread, Maze and Twila at their epicenter. She finds her voice and shouts, “Maze, we have to go.”

Alarms blare in the distance. They’re getting closer, but at the rate the fire is spreading, Chloe isn’t sure they’ll make much difference unless a firetruck is with them. A branch from a nearby tree falls, engulfed in flames, and she’s sure a large section of the park will follow soon after, along with everyone here unless they get to her car in time. 

Chloe continues to back up, and finally, _finally_, Maze strides out of the fire. Twila dangles from her fist, limp and terrified. Maze shakes herself, and the fire clinging to her boots and pants dissipates. “Let’s go,” Maze tells Chloe as she walks past, making a beeline for the road. Chloe doesn’t need to be told twice. She sprints after Maze. 

Thunder roars, drowning out the sirens. One raindrop falls, and then another until it’s a steady downpour. The approaching lights of the police are a welcome sight as she and Maze drag Twila with them. Chloe doesn’t bother looking back at the fire. She’s determined to get out of this place. One foot in front of the other, and soon they’ll be to safety. If it weren’t for the rain… She shakes her head, she doesn’t want to think about the alternative. 

They’re soaking wet, all three of them. Chloe’s hair is in her eyes, she’s cold to her bones, and her feet are squishing in her shoes. Maze is unaffected, and Twila is verging on catatonic. 

By the time they get back to her car, a firetruck is lumbering toward the scene of the hopefully doused fire. Kayley and Bobby huddle together under an umbrella as an officer takes their statement. 

Chloe blows out a breath as she hands Twila over to the uniformed officers. The rain pours down, and Chloe shivers at the barely averted vision of Griffith Park and a good portion of Los Angeles going up in flames. 

“Thanks for the rescue,” she tells Maze as she looks over at Bobby. He and Kayley have their arms wrapped around each other, looking stunned, like their fundamental understanding of the world was shaking loose. “I wasn’t sure if you’d make it.” 

Maze shrugs. “This one was easy; the truly religious usually are. Getting here in time though… you could have waited a bit.” 

Chloe smiles, and attempts to brush her waterlogged hair out of her eyes. “You know you like a challenge.”

Maze’s eyes glitter with dangerous enthusiasm. She scuffs a boot on the wet pavement and frowns, her eyes fixate on her boots and Chloe looks down in response. The soles of Maze’s boots are melted and coming apart on her feet. The leather is charred, and Chloe is surprised they’ve managed to hold together for the walk down the road. 

Maze growls. “Fuck. I liked these boots.” 

* * *

Clear, blue skies greet Chloe when she leaves the precinct. If it weren’t for some of the dry brittle plants looking less brown and a few of the succulents perking up, she never would have guessed a thunderstorm rolled through Los Angeles the night before. She steps into the morning light of what looks to be a beautiful day and resists the urge to hiss at the sun and slink away to stew in darkness. Professional LAPD Detectives do not channel their inner vampires where just anyone can see.

She wishes the weather was still overcast and awful. It would fit her exhausted mood. She’s wearing the spare set of clothes she keeps at work for emergencies, her hair is a scraggly mess, and she’s chilled to the bone, both from the rain and the prospect of a fire in the hills. 

She walks into her apartment, drags herself to the shower, and attempts to warm herself up. 

When she finally collapses into bed and burrows into her comforter, sleep does not come. 

She stares at a blank patch of wall. She tosses and turns, checks her phone, and then ends up going down a rabbit hole of #LARain tweets before setting her phone aside and attempting, once more, to settle her overactive brain so she can sleep. 

A hand strokes through her hair. Chloe murmurs and burrows closer, her fingers worm their way out of the covers to grasp at thick embroidery. She sighs and tucks her face into the crook of Lucifer's neck. Tired to her bones. 

"Linda thinks I'm dreaming of you this way because I 'long for the intimacy of a relationship we never got to have,'" Chloe murmurs softly into his skin. 

He huffs and gathers her closer. 

"I do admit that these interludes have been vastly different from what I normally prefer to do with my bedmates, but I have been no less fulfilled by them."

"I still want more." 

Lucifer goes still and taut against her. "More?"

"It's stupid," Chloe says. "I come home and wonder what your clothes would look like on my floor. Would you keep stuff at my place? Would you even want to stay over? Would you cook breakfast in the morning? I keep... seeing a life where the Devil is making me an omelette, and we talk about work and Lux and our friends, and you aren't stuck in that place." She takes a watery breath. "I even bought you pajamas. I was out getting clothes for myself, and I kept thinking, 'He's always naked; I should be prepared,' and I bought them and made it home before I realized how stupid it was. You're the Devil. You have responsibilities, and I'm just... Chloe Jane Decker, who's in love with you. I have no right asking you to leave for... _domesticity_. You’ve never even wanted domesticity and it feels… wrong thinking about it.”

"Chloe," Lucifer says, the syllables of her name rolling off his tongue like they’re precious. There's an undercurrent in his voice, a thrum almost, and it warms her to her bones. 

"I told you it was silly," she says into his chest.

"Not at all, darling. It's... _everything_." 

"I want you to be okay," she murmurs. "I just want you to be okay, and I want that to be with me." The fog of sleep drags her back down, out of the dream.


	9. Chapter 9

Even though she doesn’t want to, Chloe wakes, aware that she needs to work tomorrow, and that means being able to sleep tonight. 

She lies in bed, awake and working up the willpower to move as she scrolls through her phone. Linda texted over some Charlie pictures while she slept. They’re all adorable and offer a moment of levity she desperately needs. In one of the pictures, Amenadiel holds a laughing Charlie upside down over one shoulder. The baby clutches Amenadiel’s shirt in one tiny fist. A shirt that’s been smeared with sweet potato. She takes a moment to imagine the look on Lucifer’s face if he were to see these. His disgust, horror, and reluctant affection would be such a strange but welcome sight.

Speaking of her own disgusting human child, Trixie’s laugh floats upstairs more than once, and Chloe can pick out distant threads of conversation between Maze and Dan. 

Chloe groans and rolls her legs out of bed. She twists her torso so she’s face planted in the bed, even though her knees are hovering just over the floor. With a final groan and a shove she’s upright and stumbles her way down the hall in search of her formerly larval human. 

Dan, Maze, and Trixie are squished onto the couch, playing some ridiculous video game that the three of them are taking way more seriously than is probably warranted. 

With all of the living room seating occupied, Chloe sits on the floor, her back to the couch armrest, and leans into Maze as she focuses on the game. 

Trixie scrunches between Dan and Maze, slightly hunched over, tongue between her teeth, nose wrinkled in concentration. Dan looks Chloe’s way briefly, shifting his focus back to the game as Maze’s character overtakes his. 

Chloe zones out to the sounds of Dan, Maze, and Trixie playing their favorite game—not that Maze would ever admit she likes it. Chloe lets her mind drift, not touching on any one thought for too long. It’s a happy kind of daze that only occurs when she’s overly tired and stressed and finally gets to the point that she can stop. With the Birch Murder solved and Twila behind bars, Chloe can admit how wound up she’s been; how wound up she’s been since Lucifer left. 

High fiving Maze, Trixie laughs uproariously as she wins her round. They embark on the next level. 

Chloe can’t imagine not having Trixie’s exuberance in her life. Her daughter is everything to her, and she can’t imagine a day when that wouldn’t be true. 

Why would God throw his son away and chain him to the worst place in existence? Lucifer is the Devil. Sure. There are angels and demons and Heaven and Hell… But if Lucifer is a son of God, and if the Church is right about God being loving… Granted, Chloe can’t wrap her small human mind around the sheer overwhelming scope of God and the afterlife and the celestial rules for it all… but the idea keeps bugging her. She just keeps thinking that God is a crappy parent at best and an abusive one at worst.

She’s grateful for this family she’s managed to cobble together: child, demon, ex-husband, angel, friends, and of course the Devil. She has everything she needs, and yet… it’s not enough. 

The game winds down, and Trixie victory dances around the small living room, crowing about how she’s still the reigning champion. 

Dan rolls his eyes, but Maze looks proud, and Chloe smiles as Trixie launches herself into her arms. Chloe tickles Trixie’s side, and the joyous laughter that follows is the balm her soul needs. 

* * *

Chloe goes back to work. 

Paperwork awaits: piles of it. The Birch case is a mess from a procedural standpoint, and it’s fallen on her to ensure that the department is happy, the prosecutors are happy, and the city and state are happy. The paperwork is a headache, but she does it. 

Dan drifts over to her desk with a late-morning coffee and photos from Trixie’s surfing lessons. Chloe had picked up a few details from Trixie the previous day, but she had still been sleep deprived, and her mind had been an anxious mess after the fire.   
Looking at Trixie’s smiling face is a welcome reprieve. Chloe sips at her coffee, chuckling at videos of her daughter very shakily climbing to her feet on her board, only to topple over into the surf. Trixie pops back up after the wave has passed, a gigantic smile plastered on her face. “Did you see me, Dad?” she calls, her voice tiny over the phone’s speakers. 

“Thanks, Dan. I needed that.”

“Anytime, Chlo,” Dan says, pocketing the phone. “Seriously, though. I’m glad you’re okay. Thank God for Maze and for that freak thunderstorm last night.”

“Yeah. Thank _God_ for Maze,” Chloe says with a disbelieving laugh. 

* * *

She goes to bed late, as does Trixie. 

Their evening passes with the two of them curled up on the couch watching Muppet Treasure Island. Trixie initially floated The Dark Crystal, but Chloe is in no mood for anything verging on dark, for anything that reminds her of Hell. 

When she finally crawls into bed, she stares up at her ceiling and thinks of dancing flames and Twila’s screams. She thinks about room after room of screaming souls, of fire, of a restless fallen angel who roams the corridors of Hell and searches for glimmers of freedom. 

She falls asleep with the screams still echoing in her ears. 

Chloe’s bed acquires another occupant halfway through the night. Her restless shifting ceases as she curls into him. His hand runs over her brow, his gentle fingers brushing a strand of hair away from her face. 

“Knew you’d come,” Chloe whispers. 

“Always,” Lucifer replies. Humor creeps into his voice. “Any which way you’ll have me, Detective.” 

Chloe grabs onto his shirt and breathes him in. “Do I have you, though?” she asks. “How can… how can I have you when you—when you’re in that place.” 

“I’ll have you know, that no matter where I am, be it Hell or Earth or anywhere between, I am yours.” His arm wraps around her, and Chloe presses herself against his body. He’s warm and solid. The thump of his heart is reassuring in her ear.

“I want you back,” she mumbles, unable to resist the clarion call of sleep as her eyes drift closed. “It’s selfish, I know, but I want you back.” 

Lucifer hums, and she misses his response as she drifts off. 

* * *

Chloe wakes when a shaft of morning light filters through a gap in her curtains. She grumbles into her pillow and reaches for her phone on the nightstand. Her fingers brush the side of the phone, toppling it onto the floor. Chloe buries her face in her pillow and gives up. 

Pots clang in the kitchen, and Trixie laughs, bright and happy

Chloe groans. Her daughter is resourceful and trustworthy, but not exactly a deft hand in the kitchen. If Trixie’s trying to do anything more serious than making herself toast, Chloe needs to get up and supervise. 

It’s Maze’s fault. This tendency Trixie has to accidentally set things on fire. This is what Chloe gets for letting a demon babysit. 

She stumbles down the hall, brushing back the rat’s nest currently masquerading as her hair. She rounds the corner into the kitchen. “Trixie, babe, what have I told you about trying to make your own pancakes without someone around to supervise.” 

Two sets of dark eyes meet her own, and Chloe’s argument dies on her lips. 

“Detective!” Lucifer says. “You’re up, _finally_. I thought you were going to sleep all day.” 

“Lucifer,” Chloe replies. 

“I had a grand plan to stay by your side until you woke, but the urchin found me out.” He glares halfheartedly at Trixie, who covers her mouth and giggles. “Are you certain you’ve been feeding her? She’s inhaled two omelettes already. At the rate she’s going you’ll soon be out of eggs.” 

“Lucifer,” Chloe says again. 

The scene before her simply does not compute in her sluggish brain. Trixie sits at the kitchen island shoveling an omelette oozing with cheese into her mouth. Lucifer is incongruous and out of place as he plates up a second omelette, this one bursting with tomatoes and peppers. He looks exactly like he did in her dreams: the black tunic embroidered with black and silver thread, the scale pants, the black boots. He wears no eyeliner, and his hair is untamed and curly. He looks exquisitely put together and like a complete disaster all at the same time. A paradox only Lucifer can pull off. 

He looks at her expectantly, his eyes big and dark and hopeful. 

Chloe walks over and places her hand on his forearm. His sleeves are pushed up, his skin is soft, but his muscles are tense under her hand. “I thought I’d dreamed you,” she says, looking up at him. 

“You did.” He leans down and presses his forehead against hers. “Detective. _Chloe_.”

Chloe brushes her hand over his chest, grounding herself with his presence. 

“Are you going to kiss?” Trixie asks around a bite of her omelette, ruining the moment. 

Chloe tries to contain her laugh and ends up snorting instead. Lucifer’s head tilt in Trixie’s direction has an air of annoyance about it, but there’s no bite to it. 

“You should kiss,” Trixie points out. “It’s gross, but it would make Mom happy.” 

Lucifer grins at Chloe. “Well, Detective, who am I to disobey a direct order?” 

Chloe rolls her eyes. 

Lucifer brightens. “Ah, there it is. That expression I’ve missed so much.” He tugs her back into his arms. Chloe tilts her head toward his, and they slot their mouths together. 

Moments pass, and Chloe and Lucifer stay wrapped in each other. When the kiss breaks, Chloe steps back, flushed and happy, a smile overwhelming her face. 

“Well, look who’s back,” Maze says. She shovels bite of Lucifer’s forgotten omelette into her mouth, and takes a seat next to Trixie. She looks Lucifer up and down. “Didn’t even bother to stop for a wardrobe change. You’re _eager_.” 

“Mazikeen,” Lucifer says somewhat imperiously. 

Maze rolls her eyes. “My King,” she replies, facetiously.

Lucifer raises an eyebrow at her, but the point has been made. His face relaxes, and the hints of a smile twitch at the corners of his lips. 

“I won’t be hearing any of that from you, Maze.” 

“Glad we’re on the same page.” Maze turns to Chloe. “Deal’s a deal, Decker. I’ll take Trixie and clear out for the day.”

“Maze...”

“No.” Maze interrupts. “Whatever you’re going to say, we made a deal. You have better things to _do_.” She waves her hand in Lucifer’s general direction. 

“Ah, but why the rush, my dearest Maze?” Lucifer steps back to the cooktop. He spins a skillet with a flourish and situates it on the burner. “You’ve barely just arrived, and I’m certain you’ll want more than just one omelette. Although, I will need to make the Detective something to eat first, now that you’ve made off with her intended breakfast.” 

Chloe pulls up a stool next to her daughter and Maze and enjoys the show as Lucifer whips up another two omelettes with the remaining eggs. 

The omelette is delicious and bursting with flavor. She polishes it off quickly and watches Lucifer flutter about her kitchen, putting things back where they belong and being, in general, a giant neat freak. He’s going to be unhappy when he sees the dust on his bar, she thinks as he wipes down the counters. The muscles in his forearms draw her eye, and she finds herself staring. 

Maze snorts and waves a hand in front of Chloe’s face. She blinks herself back to reality to find Maze smirking and Trixie laughing at her. 

Lucifer seems delighted by his sudden objectification, if the lecherous slant of his mouth is anything to go by. 

“Trixie and I are going to clear out,” Maze says, giving Chloe a knowing look. “You should call out from work.” 

“I have sick time banked,” Chloe says. “My case wrapped up, and I’ll call out.” She smiles at Lucifer. “Besides, I don’t mind playing hooky with the Devil.”

“Why, Detective,” Lucifer says, throwing a dish rag into the sink and resting a hip against the counter. “I do believe I’ve rubbed off on you.” 

Maze’s face lights up, and Chloe can see the innuendo forming. She glares and nods at Trixie, who’s watching the proceedings obliviously. Maze smirks in response. 

“Come on Trix. Let’s go get ready.” Maze swings off her stool and saunters off, Trixie hot on her heels.

“If you’d ever told me Hell’s top torturer would willingly spend time with a human child, I would have thought you barking mad, and yet, here we are.” Lucifer’s dark eyes slide her way as he fiddles with the sleeves of his tunic. “The Devil: in love with a human. Preposterous. Unlikely. Insane.” 

“And yet,” Chloe says, walking around the kitchen island. She takes his hands and interlocks their fingers, stepping further into his space and tilting her head, a clear invitation. 

“Here we are,” Lucifer replies, pulling her fingers to his mouth and kissing her knuckles. “Improbably, impossibly, here we are.” He leans down and kisses her, one hand untangling from her fingers to draw her closer to the heat of his body. The kiss starts off gently, similar to the few they’ve shared in the past. They stay still for a moment, pressed together, breathing each other in. She clutches him tight and deepens the kiss. He responds like a man who has been deprived of light and touch and sensation. In moments, his considerable skill takes over, and soon the only thing Chloe is aware of is him, him, him. His hands, his lips, his body. 

Maze coughs from Trixie’s doorway. “There are children present.” 

Chloe blushes and steps away from Lucifer, tugging at the hem of her t-shirt. 

Maze leers, “Ten minutes, and me and Trixie will be out of your hair, and you can—” She waves her hand in Chloe’s direction. “—talk about your _feelings_ since that’s what seems to do it for you.” 

Heat spreads across Chloe’s face. She mumbles a response at Maze, grabs Lucifer’s hand, and drags him back to her bedroom. 

“Why, Detective, eager are we?”

Chloe leaves the door open and starts digging around the side of her bed for her phone. “I need to send an email to work so they know I won’t be coming in today, and nothing is happening until we’ve had a chance to talk, anyway.” She finds her phone behind the nightstand. Chloe fishes it out and straightens to find Lucifer with his boots kicked off, reclining on her bed. 

For a moment reality spins around her, and she’s not sure if she’s dreaming or awake. So many dreams have featured him in those clothes, in her bed, and to be with him now, looking like that... 

“Darling, I do believe you have an email to send. The longer you wait, the longer I’m stuck in these atrocious clothes, and I really do yearn for the Armani. Or nothing at all. Lady’s choice.” 

Chloe swallows, her throat suddenly dry. 

He stretches, throwing his arms over his head and arching his back in pleasure. White noise fills her ears, and she hastily completes her sick time email. She attempts to hit send, misses, and tries again. 

Lucifer crosses his ankles, long and lean and hers for the taking. She doesn’t know where to begin. 

The heavy sound of boots filters through the doorway. Maze dumps a cardboard box at the end of the bed. “Little welcome home present. Trust me Chloe, if you think you need it bad, he needs it _worse_.” Her lips twist at Lucifer’s come-and-take-me look. Lucifer smiles back, unrepentant and unashamed. 

Maze stomps back toward the open door. 

“Mazikeen,” Lucifer says. Maze stops as she’s about to exit and looks over her shoulder. “A moment please?”

“Don’t make it too long. I’ve got places to be.” 

Lucifer rolls off the bed and pads barefoot into the hallway, leaving Chloe alone with the nondescript cardboard box. Their conversation is hushed, carried on in the same harsh language Maze had uttered when she had been trying to scare Bobby at the picnic table. 

Chloe takes a few tentative steps to the box and opens the flaps. ‘_Yup, there it is_,’ she thinks once the box is open, ‘_there’s that feeling of horror_.’

Maze’s gift is a box full of lube, condoms, and sex toys. Pride of place at the top and still in its box is a harness accompanied by a rather large rubber dildo. 

“See you later, Decker,” Maze shouts from down the hall. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Laughter follows as the front door closes. 

Lucifer steps back into the room, slides his arm around her waist, and buries his face in her hair. When she doesn’t move, he glances at the box. “Rather on brand for Maze, but perhaps now is not the time to partake of her _gift_.” 

Chloe contemplates the fact that a demon has just gifted her a box of sex toys for use with the Devil. Even more horrifying, she just let the same demon take her daughter shopping.

She wishes the floor would open beneath her feet and swallow her whole. 

“We’ll just put this aside for now,” Lucifer says, folding down the flaps. “While a generous gift, it’s putting the cart before the horse at the moment.” He straightens and claps his hands together. “Now, I think Lux is calling, particularly my closet. I thought for sure Maze would have hired someone to pack everything up and be done with it, but she continues to surprise me.” He shrugs, as if to say ‘demons, what can you do?’

Chloe bites her lip. “I don’t know. I’m starting to like this look.” 

“How _dare_ you,” Lucifer replies, mock offended. 

“So many dreams where you’ve looked like this.” She runs a finger along a ridge of embroidery over his abdomen. 

Lucifer pulls her into his arms, his eyes dark with promise. He looks at her. “Chloe. Those dreams. Those were real.” 

The words, the confirmation… as soon as she walked into the kitchen and saw Lucifer looking like that, she knew. She knew that he had been there with her, opening up and talking in a way he had never done previously. But to hear it from him… a slow heat takes over her body. Warmth and love and need mixed together. They’ve been partners for years, have had each others backs through situations that would have destroyed other people. He’s gone through hell for her. Gone to Hell for her, and she would do the same for him. 

She cups his face. “I know.” 

She pulls him down and kisses him. The kiss is hard and wonderful. She slides her hands from his face into his unruly hair and tugs on the curls as he nips at her lips. His arms tighten around her as he picks her up. She breaks the kiss and laughs against his mouth. 

Chloe wraps her legs around his waist and grins down at him. She plucks at the high collar of his black tunic. “I wonder what those clothes will look like on my floor.”

“Oh, _Detective_, only one way to find out.” He smiles at her, big and bright and joyous. His hands run over her pajama-covered legs. “But only if I get to rip this horrendous sleepwear off of you.” She slides down his body, shivering at the feel of him, until her feet are firmly on the floor. “Do you know how many unseemly daydreams I’ve had about this… travesty you’re wearing? The King of Hell fantasizing about oversized t-shirts and kitty pajamas” He tsks and shakes his head. “I must say, you’ve had me in a right state. There were times I could barely focus.” His fingers skate over her t-shirt, from the neckline down her sternum and very gently traces over a nipple through the shirt. Chloe gasps at the frisson of need that shoots through her. 

“I wanted to look, darling. In that dream, in my bed. There you were, everything I wanted, everything I yearned for—” His hands cup her breasts, thumbs running over her nipples through her shirt. Chloe arches into him. “—and it wasn’t real, it wouldn’t have been the same, but oh, you left me wanting.” He leans his forehead against hers as he plays with the hem of her t-shirt. 

Chloe moans and clutches at his hips, her chest heaving under his hand. Her t-shirt feels scratchy against her skin. She bites her lip, looks up at him and then yanks her shirt over her head, flinging it behind her. 

Lucifer gazes at her with reverence, his dark eyes speaking only of worship. His hand finds its way back to her breast as he places butterfly kisses along her neck, soft and barely there. He strokes his left hand over her body, lingering, until his fingers find their way to the elastic band of her kitten pajama pants and slide underneath. 

“I’m tired of waiting,” Chloe whispers into his neck. “I’m tired of dreaming. I want you.” She drags her nails over his tunic-covered back. He presses against her and nudges her toward the bed until the backs of her thighs collide with the mattress. He shoves the box of sex toys off the bed so she can throw herself backwards. The box lands on its side, items spilling out of it. 

“This just won’t do.” He tugs on her pajama pants and Chloe laughs as he wrestles them down her legs. “Good riddance,” he murmurs, tossing them aside. He climbs onto the bed, braces himself above her and smiles. “We will be burning those later.”

The only thing left is her underwear, and not even the ones she would have worn had she been trying to seduce Lucifer. These are her ‘not looking for a man’ panties and by no means does she consider them seductive, but Lucifer doesn’t seem to care, not when he’s looking at her like she’s the one who lit the stars. 

He sits back on his haunches and admires. 

Chloe puts on a show for him. She throws her arms above her head and arches her back in a long, leisurely stretch. It doesn’t matter that she has stretch marks, that her breasts aren’t as perky as they were when she was nineteen, or that she hasn’t bothered to shave her legs for a few days. 

Lucifer is utterly shameless in a way she finds both embarrassing and remarkable. To have the tables turned now—him fully clothed and her in nothing but her panties—she feels like she’s the one holding all the power.

He kneels by her thighs and looks strange without the couture suits. The high-necked tunic and scale pants make him look less modern man and more otherworldly being. The black-embroidered tunic makes him look severe. The collar cuts just below his jawline, more reminiscent of old military uniforms than anything he normally wears. His hair is a mess of curls from her fingers tussling it. He looks young, and debauched. 

So many dreams, of him in her bed, she wants him as bared to her as she is to him. 

Chloe holds out her hands. Lucifer obliges and pulls her up and into his lap. She sinks her fingers back into his curls, enjoying the slide of the strands through her fingers. She kisses him, even though it’s less of a kiss and more of a pressing together of smiles while trying not to laugh. 

Her hands wander from his hair, over his shoulders, down his torso, and finally to the hem of his embroidered tunic. She tugs the tunic over his head, leaving a halo of ruffled hair in its wake. 

She takes the opportunity to touch the expanse of his skin, wandering over pectorals and small pert nipples, along the lines of his shoulders, back over his shoulder blades. She presses her fingers into the bones, and now that she knows what he is, she can feel the difference in his skeletal structure. She gasps when Lucifer’s hips buck up, grinding his leather clad erection against her. 

The two of them move together, Lucifer hard and straining against her. She clutches at him, moaning as she grinds on him. He kisses her. Their noses bump together, their teeth clash, and it’s awkward and strange and oh so normal. 

“Chloe,” Lucifer moans. He tips his head back, eyes closed and mouth slightly open. She ghosts her mouth over his throat, barely touching until she nips him gently, just below his ear. She curls one arm around his neck and into his hair, holding him tight as she attempts to mark him as hers.

“Lucifer,” she whispers. “I want to know what you... desire.” 

He groans and rests his head on her shoulder, taking deep breaths. “I think that’s my line, darling.” 

Chloe pushes him back onto the bed. “Tell me,” she commands, repeating the phrase between soft kisses as she works her way down his chest. 

“Chloe…” Lucifer murmurs. “I want _you_. I want you every which way I can have you. Every which way you’ll let me. Partners, friends—” His hips thrust up as she presses her palm against the front of his pants. “—lovers.” He ends on a moan. 

Chloe finds the clasp at his waist and thumbs it open. She drags his pants down his legs, dumping them over the side of the bed with a heavy thump of leather. 

He sprawls beneath her, and she allows herself to look, and to appreciate. He’s long and lean, broad shouldered with a narrow waist. The muscles of his abdomen twitch like he’s forcing himself to stay still for her appraisal. “You’re beautiful,” she tells him. 

She shimmies out of her underwear, enjoying the way his hungry eyes rove over her body. He growls, gliding his hands up her legs. She situates herself on top of him, enjoying the feel of his hands on her skin, of his erection under her. He smiles up at her, delighted as she leans down to kiss him. 

“Chloe,” he whispers against her lips, her name resonating like a prayer. He clutches her to him, and then he moves, rolling her under his body and deepening the kiss. His fingers dance across her skin, lower and lower until he’s tracing the crease of her thigh. 

Dipping between her legs, he touches her center. Chloe breaks the kiss, panting, blissed out, as he strokes and rubs her just so. 

“I dreamt about this,” Lucifer says. “In the deepest pits of Hell, you were my light, Chloe. When I closed my eyes, it was you I would see. I wanted nothing more than to flee my responsibilities and take solace in your arms—” He crooks his fingers inside her, and Chloe jolts with pleasure. “—in your bed.”

She can’t look away from him. He watches her intently as her orgasm builds, as she writhes under his hand and under his scrutiny. With his clever fingers, he sends her flying over the edge. She closes her eyes and clutches at his shoulders as her body shudders. 

Chloe comes to her senses with the Devil himself lying next to her, his head propped on his hand. This moment has been years in the making. She takes a deep breath, centering herself as he skims his fingers over her ribs. She squirms under the soft touch, and makes herself a promise that she’ll never let the imprint of Chloe Decker fade from his body or soul. From the look in Lucifer’s dark eyes, he’s thinking the same.

“Condom?” she asks. 

Lucifer snags a condom and a bottle of lube from the box on the floor. He rips open the packet, but Chloe intercepts before he can sheath himself. She plucks the condom out of his hand and rolls it over him. A squirt of lube into the palm of her hand, a quick but thorough caress, and he moans in pleasure above her. 

Her hand slides behind his neck, and she pulls him down for a kiss. “Chloe,” Lucifer murmurs against her. “Chloe, Chloe, Chloe.” His punctuates her name with a kiss each time he says it. “I have missed you.”

He grabs her hips, and rolls onto his back, with her above him. The Devil, spread before her at her mercy. She pushes herself up using his chest as leverage and blissfully, finally, sinks onto him. Lucifer’s eyes flutter closed. 

She doesn’t move for a heartbeat, two heartbeats, reveling in the feeling of having him inside her. She clenches around him, and the nerves in her legs are alight. Bracing herself against him, she begins to move, and with every thrust of her own, he meets her. They find a rhythm together, spiraling into pleasure. 

She doesn’t notice his hand until he finds her clit with it, rubbing around and around, gently running over and back again. She doesn’t take long to finish, tensing as her second orgasm crashes over her. Her thighs shake, and her arms give. She sprawls across Lucifer’s chest, gasping as the aftershocks run through her. 

Lucifer rolls so she’s beneath him. His thrusts become more shallow and gentle as she coasts on post-orgasmic bliss. His movement reignites her lust. Sparks tingle down her body. 

She wraps her hands around his back and holds on as he picks up speed. After one particularly hard snap of his hips, she rakes her nails over his shoulder blades, over where his wings would be if they were physical. Lucifer throws his head back and tips over the edge.


	10. Chapter 10

The bedroom is a mess. 

She’s a mess. Lucifer is a mess, albeit a smug and satiated one. He leans against her headboard, eyes closed, lips quirked in a satisfied smile. 

Chloe picks through the discarded clothes, sex toys, condoms, and lube to retrieve her comforter. Her air conditioner is running, and she shivers as sweat cools against her skin. She pulls the comforter over her shoulders. 

She joins him on the bed and arranges the ends of the comforter, draping it over his pelvis and upper thighs. He laughs and wraps an arm around her as she curls into him. 

“Really, darling?” Lucifer murmurs into her hair as she runs her hand along his side, tracing the lines of his obliques. “It’s just the two of us, no need to be modest.” 

She pinches him lightly. “I can’t think with you sitting here being… you.” 

“Oh, you find me distracting? I can assure you, the feeling is entirely mutual.”

She turns in his embrace and ghosts her fingers along his ribs, eliciting a twitch. She does it again with the same result and smiles into his shoulder. The Devil is ticklish. It’s a discovery that Chloe wants to hoard for herself; these little quirks she’s uncovering. 

“Are dreams part of your Devil powers?”

“Pardon? _Devil powers_?” He grimaces. 

She runs a finger over his abs. “Those dreams I was having. That was you. Is that something you can… do? Like if I went on a trip to New York, and you were still in Los Angeles, would we still be able to meet in… dreams?” Chloe wrinkles her nose. “It sounds so cheesy phrased that way.” 

“No, dreams are not in my purview. I was only able to pull this off because I cut a deal with Morpheus.” 

“Do I even want to know who that is?”

“Not particularly. He has very little reason to interfere here, but for what it’s worth… I wasn’t sure if you’d want me back.”

“Lucifer,” Chloe says, her throat tightening. 

“Ah, Detective, you know me. I sometimes let my own insecurities run away with me. I make assumptions. Linda can tell you that much.” He swallows, and his muscles tense underneath her. He plays with the ends of her hair, his eyes focused on running the strands through his fingers rather than on her face. “I had a plan. After the rebellion had been brought to heel, I had time to think, and I came up with a way to be here with you while ensuring that no demons slipped through and things ticked over as they should down there. It was a good plan, and I would have been a fool not to try.”

“But why the dreams?” 

“Fear.” He twists a lock of her hair upright, forming a sloppy loop. “The Devil afraid of a human. I never thought I would see the day.”

“You’re not afraid of me.”

He frowns. “No, but I was afraid of the possibilities. The unknowns of what a life on Earth, with you, could mean. I was afraid you had come to your senses in my absence and had moved on. It would have been the smart thing to do as I am not boyfriend material. I have had one relationship over the course of my long life and only recently. But, Chloe, I want to try. I want so badly to try. To choose to be with you and for you to choose to be with me.”

“I want that too,” she tells him. She fiddles with the comforter covering his lap, smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles. She and Lucifer have never really spoken about a future together outside of work and cases. He exploded into her life and just… never left. He was a constant, and then he was gone. The dreams, now that she knows they were real, are a comfort. She’s not walking into this conversation blind. The intimacy they shared, the stories they told each other. That was real. He wants her, and she... “I want you,” she tells him. “Everywhere I went, I thought about how you would react, the things you would say, what you would think.” She laughs and buries her face in his shoulder. “I went to _church_ looking for a suspect, and I missed you because you would have made a scene.”

“Well, this Devil is always happy to cause a scene. We can swing by some Sunday morning and give the poor sods a show.”

“Rain check,” Chloe tells him. As fun as the fantasy was in church, she’d rather not fill him in on the subject of their current sermons. “There are better things we can be doing with our time now that you’re back.” She pauses at the realization that she still doesn’t know much. They’ve been so wound up in each other, that what explanation she has is sparse. “You are… back?” she asks. “You’re not going to disappear again? I won’t… turn around one day and find you gone and not know where you are?” 

Lucifer leans over and places a kiss on the top of her head. “I will not leave without telling you, but I will need to return to Hell periodically. My days of retirement are over, and Hell needs a King. Thankfully, I’ve managed to work my way into a solution that was acceptable to all parties.” 

“Will you tell me about it?” 

“I… will, but I’d like to beg you for some time. The vestiges of Hell can be difficult to shake, and I’d like to feel more like myself before delving back into the morass.”

Chloe snuggles closer to him. “I can wait until you’re ready.”

He takes a deep breath, his rib cage expanding against her. He fiddles with the loop he made of her hair and undoes it. “I have no idea how I got so lucky. I certainly don’t deserve such faith.” 

“No… but you have it anyways.” 

His presence is a balm for her soul, for a year of grief and loss. He traces his fingers through her hair, over and over, a soothing motion that has her curling tighter into his side. She frowns as an errant thought ping pongs through her brain. A quick glance up at him, at his messy curls, and she can’t keep the question to herself. “Is there no hair gel in Hell?”

Lucifer raises an eyebrow at her. “Of all the burning questions you could have about Hell, that’s the one you lead with?”

Chloe shrugs. “You always seem so put together… but you showed up looking… curly.” She furrows her brow. “Can you bring items from Earth with you to Hell? You said Earth clothes don’t hold up well down there… so do you show up naked when you go back to Hell? Can you bring luggage? Would it have been possible to bring hair product and eyeliner?”

Lucifer laughs, long and deep. A humorous departure from the serious nature of their conversation seems to be exactly what he needs. “Items from Earth can exist in Hell, Detective, but they don’t hold up well in heat and ash. Hell is noxious and disgusting. Every aspect of it is torment, including the destruction of my Louboutins, may they rest in peace.”

“And your hair?”

“I’ve mentioned before that I had little reason to wear this face. Down there, it didn’t feel like me. I had a role to fulfill and this visage doesn’t seem to fit well anymore. I’m quite afraid that your regard, and _love_, is responsible for that little quirk. So I pulled my Devil face on and only put it aside when I could catch a few hours of sleep. I would not want to subject any unsuspecting officers of the law to that horror.” 

“That face is part of you. I’ve seen it before.”

Lucifer hums. “Can you honestly tell me you would be okay rolling over and seeing that in bed with you in the middle of the night? 

“It would certainly be one way to wake up fast.”

“My physical self informs my dream self, as did yours. It’s why I now have a complex around kitten pajamas. Where you went to sleep and what you were wearing when you went to sleep informed how the dream would play out.”

“But you always joined me,” Chloe points out, adjusting the comforter as it starts to slip off her shoulder. “I never… ended up in your bed.” 

“I should bloody well hope not. Hell ruins things, Detective. Even dreams.”

“Then I’m glad. I’m glad you found your way back. I couldn’t stand it, Lucifer. Having you down there. You don’t deserve it.”

“Dad would beg to differ.” 

Chloe gathers the comforter and shifts out of his embrace to straddle his lap. He grips her hip, his interest renewed beneath her. But she doesn’t want more sex, not now. Not when his doubt is still so deeply ingrained. 

She cups his cheeks. His eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide with desire. “I don’t care what your Dad thinks, Lucifer. I know you think he’s always meddling, but I don’t. We make our own choices. Not God. And I choose you.” She runs a thumb along his stubble, enjoying the bristles as they prick against her fingers. “I choose you.”

“Chloe,” Lucifer whispers. 

“We’re in this together. Partners, right?”

He nods. “Partners.”

“Now,” Chloe says, “I think it’s time we got cleaned up. A shower and a suit will go a long way for you.” 

Lucifer’s lips quirk as he peers at the floor strewn with clothing and debris from Maze’s box. “I am looking forward to a decent set of clothes.” Chloe climbs off his lap. He retrieves his tunic from the floor, gives it a shake, and frowns. “I’m ready to put my ‘Game of Thrones escapee’ look behind me.”

“Starting with the Armani?” Chloe says. 

He gathers up his leather pants, looking aggrieved by having to wear the clothes he arrived in. “Starting with a shower,” he says firmly, tugging the tunic back on. 

“None of that in Hell?” 

“Cleanliness is sorely lacking. Now, chop chop Detective, get dressed. Lux is calling and my shower is infinitely better than yours.” 

* * *

Thankfully it's the early afternoon, and their ascent to the penthouse goes unnoticed by Lucifer's staff. As soon as the elevator dings open, he makes a beeline for the shower, stripping off his clothes and leaving them in heaps along the way. 

Chloe follows more sedately, happy to let him take the time to get back to normal. To _feel_ normal after being in Hell for so long. He hasn't said as much, but she gets the impression he spent much longer than a year down there. 

She picks up his discarded tunic and runs her fingers over the embroidery. It's elaborate work, the black on black. Subtle and sinister. The tunic is a masterwork of dragons and thorns. Tiny embroidered skeletons toil along the hem, shackles chaining them to each other. The tunic looks like a piece that should belong in an exhibit and yet it's been tossed on the floor as if it means nothing. 

Or means too much. 

Lucifer has always been so careful with his clothes. Folding his jackets so they don't get wrinkles, annoyed when a piece of clothing is damaged in the line of duty. To see him so disheveled, so uncaring about his wardrobe, it's shocking. 

She glances towards his bathroom as the shower turns on. She could join him, but she gets the impression that he needs the moment to himself. To shed the persona of Lucifer Morningstar, King of Hell, Prince of Darkness, and to assume his other mantles, such as Consultant, Night Club Owner, and now, hopefully, Boyfriend. 

Chloe laughs and picks up his discarded scale pants. Her boyfriend is Satan. 

That's a relationship goal she'd never envisioned for herself, even when she'd gone through a phase in high school where she watched _The Craft_ on repeat. 

She finds his washer and dryer, dumps his clothing into a basket and shoves it aside. She's not entirely sure what the wash instructions are for pants that look like they're made of dragon hide, or for a shirt embroidered by the damned. 

When Lucifer emerges from the bathroom with only a towel around his waist, Chloe waits for him at the bar, nursing a glass. A tumbler awaits him, two fingers of scotch neatly poured and ready. 

"Cheers," Chloe says, as Lucifer takes the glass from her. "To your return." He clinks his glass to hers and takes a long drink. She watches his throat as he swallows, stamping down the urge to reach up and touch his shower-damp skin. 

He takes another sip and closes his eyes, clearly reveling in the smoky flavors of the aged whiskey. Sitting beside him at the bar, sharing a glass, taking comfort in each others presence, it feels… right. A piece of herself that’s been missing slots back into place. The silence is long and comfortable. Chloe finishes her drink, and Lucifer heads behind the bar to refill his. He tsks. "Dearie me, the state of this place. It's positively a disaster. I would have thought Maze would have cleaned up behind her."

"Ah. I don't think that was just Maze." 

"Oh?" He raises his eyebrows as he continues to rifle around. The mini-fridge opens, and he scoffs. "Clearly not Maze. She knows better than to bring this swill here." Lucifer plunks a bottle of beer onto the counter. The label is silly and stupid and she breathes a sigh of relief that the tribe had polished off all of Samael's Ale while watching Ghost. 

"Let me guess. Girls’ night?"

"Ella bought them"

"And I'm sure you naughty ladies had an enjoyable evening drinking—" He curls his lip and wrinkles his nose. "—_Hoptimus Prime_." 

"Mmm." Chloe takes another sip of her whiskey and enjoys the burn of it across her tongue. "We introduced Maze to the movie _Ghost_." 

"Oh ho. I'm sure that was an experience." 

"The commentary was enlightening, and it was a nice distraction for her." 

"What, pray tell, does Maze need distracting from?" He wipes his finger over the bar and grimaces at the dust.

"She's pining for Eve and worried that she'll move on and forget about her." 

"Forget about Mazikeen?" He scoffs. "As if that could ever happen. She is singularly unique, that demon. She and Eve would do well by each other. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Detective, my wardrobe calls." He leaves the beer on the bartop and heads to his closet, whiskey glass in hand. 

Chloe follows, still feeling like he could disappear at any moment and that his penthouse would go back to being an empty shell. 

He zips a bag open and pulls out a suit. He holds it up, scowling at the yellow color. He glances back at Chloe, who’s leaning against the doorway. “Why I ever let my tailor talk me into this color, I do not know. It looks terrible on me. This porcelain skin was not meant for _mustard_.” He shoves the suit in the bag and unzips another, revealing a black suit. “Oh yes, this will do nicely.” 

He discards the towel with a careless move. Chloe smirks and enjoys the show, relishing the fact that she’s free to look and enjoy. He has a beautiful body and has never been shy about displaying it, but there’s something intimate about standing in his closet, watching him dither over his wardrobe. He slips the trousers on and follows with a white button down he leaves open. 

For anyone else his closet would be a dream, but for Chloe it’s just endearingly ostentatious. Her wardrobe is simple and functional, with a few fun pieces thrown in for the odd night out. That’s not to say she doesn’t enjoy clothes—she does—and she loves getting dressed up when the opportunity arises, but couture goes over her head. Fashion wasn’t even something she thought about until she met Lucifer Morningstar with his high-end suits and cufflinks. When she’d met Lucifer, she hadn’t even known a man who wore cufflinks with his suit before, let alone every day. 

She drifts over to a padded bench in the middle of the closet and sits down, crossing her legs and enjoying Lucifer fluttering about, unpacking and shifting items around until everything is exactly where it should be. 

Chloe can now say with certainty exactly what Lucifer keeps in his sock drawer.

He leaves one alcove clear of any suits or accessories. “For you,” he says, his hands playing with the cuffs of his shirt. “That is, if you’d like to leave some clothes here. I wouldn’t want to presume.”

Chloe props her elbow on her knee and rests her chin on her hand. “I was just thinking this closet could use some sensible brown shoes.”

Lucifer’s face lights up. “And possibly some sweaters,” he adds. “My closet is severely lacking in crochet, Detective. I do hope you can fix that.”

Chloe smiles back. She’s not sure how this will work out. They both have lives and responsibilities, but now that he’s back, now that he’s staying, she’s excited to figure it out. 

When he finishes fussing, when the closet is restored to its normal glory, he joins her on the padded couch. Chloe leans into him and slides a hand under his unbuttoned shirt, stroking long lean muscles.

“I tossed your clothes into the laundry room. I wasn’t sure what you wanted to do with them.” 

“Burn them. Throw them away. I don’t care.”

Chloe nods and traces the line of one shoulder blade. “What about your wings?” she asks, ducking her head and blushing under his long, searching look. 

“What about them? I think I’m a little past burning them, and throwing them away might prove difficult. Or are we throwing the whole man away with them?”

She shakes her head and runs her hand down his spine, enjoying the feel of his skin. “No. Do you…” She pauses and attempts to marshal her thoughts. “In one of the dreams, when you did my hair, we talked about preening and what it meant—” She breathes deep and slides her hands between his shoulder blades. “—what it means for angels.” 

Lucifer takes a long shuddery breath she can feel through her hand. He tilts his head and glances at her. He applied some eyeliner when he was in the bathroom and while his hair isn’t back to its normal coiffed state, it’s been tamed into something closer to what she’s used to seeing. She slides her hand out from under his shirt. 

“I know you have issues with your wings,” Chloe says in a rush to fill the silence. “If you don’t want to, that’s okay. I just… I wanted to do something for you. Because I love you. I love all of you, even if sometimes you don’t love those things yourself.” 

Lucifer tugs her into his arms, and she twists to return the hug more firmly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and tucking her face into the curve of his neck. 

“Chloe,” he murmurs into the silence. “I would like that. But I don’t think I’m ready.” 

“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

He shakes his head against her. “I want to. There’s a part of me that’s screaming to take my wings out and have your hands in them, but I can’t, not yet. My reactions have been honed in Hell, and to have someone so close… I wouldn’t want to hurt you. It has simply been… too long since anyone has touched my wings with good intentions.”

She tightens her arms around him and tries not to think of his eons in Hell, separated from any kind of love and trust and gentleness. 

“It’s okay, Lucifer. When you’re ready… I want to learn, and if you never are. That’s okay too.” 

He slips out of her embrace and kisses her, a gentle press of his lips against hers. “Thank you,” he says. He pulls back and smiles. “I do believe I need to get reacquainted with the piano, if a certain Detective would like to join me. I’m hoping she might even let me have her against it.” 

Chloe laughs. “Play me a song and we’ll see.” 

“Oh, a challenge.” 

He pulls her to her feet and spins her out the door, eager to play. 

Eager to live. 

* * *

Saturday evening, two weeks after Twila’s arrest and Lucifer’s return, Chloe returns to Birch Brewing. Trixie tags along, eager for a night out with Mom. 

Lucifer will be joining them later, having gotten tied up at Lux. She’s yet to miss Trixie’s karate practice, so she had waved goodbye and headed out as he and Patrick had wrangled with a shipment of whiskey that had gone missing thanks to the ineptitude of the shipping company. She’d intended to find a restaurant and have a leisurely dinner with Trixie, but she’d driven to Birch Brewing like she’s on autopilot. 

A band jams on stage, and the crowd is clearly into it. The bar is packed, and every available seat is taken. Trixie squirms her way through the crowd and joins a few kids at the front of the stage who are bopping along to the rock music. She’s immediately welcomed as one of their own and soon enough she’s giggling with another little girl her age. The two are fast friends within minutes, bouncing up and down and laughing. 

Chloe finds her way to the end of the bar. Close enough to the stage to watch Trixie, but out of the way so she’s not buffeted by patrons as they order drinks or get refills. 

The song ends and another begins. Trixie squeals with her new friend, and Chloe manages to get a pint of the Golden Harp Blonde that Maze had procured for her on her last visit. 

In the two weeks since Lucifer has been back, they’ve rarely been apart. He’s back to working cases with her and their nights have been spent tangled up in each other, be it at the penthouse or at her apartment. He entertains at Lux, but he always ends up back with her. There’s still a bottle of Golden Harp in her fridge courtesy of Maze, and she’s looking forward to seeing his expression once he finds it.

She checks her phone and smiles at the message from Lucifer. He’s almost done, and while she wouldn’t mind spending an evening in her apartment cuddling on the couch, watching a movie with her two favorite people, she’s enjoying the atmosphere and the music. She sends the address to Lucifer with an invitation to join. 

Three songs in, and there’s a touch on her elbow. She turns expecting to see Lucifer, but Kayley smiles down at her. A flush dots her cheeks, her blonde hair coming out of its ponytail, and a bar rag is thrown over one shoulder. “Detective Decker!” she bubbles. “It’s so good to see you.” She engulfs Chloe in an exuberant hug. Chloe laughs and pats Kayley on the back, thankful that working with Ella has made her impervious to surprise hugs. 

“It’s good to see you too. Quite the crowd you have going.” 

“Business has been good. Anne is still recovering, so I’ve been helping Bobby run the place. Thankfully, we’ve got an amazing support group.” 

“That’s so good to hear. I’m really sorry about what happened though... with Bobby’s mom.” 

“I’m not. Twila was awful. She could never accept Bobby for who he is, or for what he’s interested in… or for who he wants to date. Since she was arrested, it’s like he’s been freed.” She nods towards a table at the back. “You should go over and say hi.” 

“I think I will. Thanks, Kayley.” 

“Anytime, Detective. Feel free to come in whenever you want, drinks are on the house.” Kayley takes off with a wave, weaving her way through the tables, leaning over to say hello to patrons, clearing away beer bottles, and smiling back at Bobby with the look on her face of a woman in love. 

Chloe cranes her neck and spots Bobby bent over a beat up table. His companion looks familiar. Chloe maneuvers her way closer, keeping an eye out for Trixie. Dr. Rebekah Ross looks up from the conversation, spots Chloe, and waves. “Chloe! Come join us.” 

Trixie is still absorbed in the band and her new friend, so Chloe slides in next to Bobby. He nods a hello and goes back to watching Kayley flit around the tasting room. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Chloe tells Rebekah. 

“I couldn’t resist the ambiance—” Rebekah raises her glass “—and the beer.” 

Chloe laughs. “I’ll drink to that.” They clink their glasses together. “I didn’t think I’d be back, but my daughter and I were in the area, and I couldn’t resist. It’s nice to be here under better circumstances.” 

“We’ve been lucky,” Bobby replies. “The regulars have stepped up to help, and with all the drama my mom caused it got us some press. Dr. Ross came out tonight to plan another Archetype of the Devil lecture. The first one went over really well, and she’s refined the lecture since then.”

Rebekah nods. “I really should thank you, Chloe. Our last conversation got me thinking, and I decided to expand out a bit.” 

“Oh, don’t thank me,” Chloe says. “Really.” She cranes her neck towards the entrance, hoping to spot Lucifer. No such luck, the Devil still hasn’t arrived. “My boyfriend is the one who knows more than me. I just picked it up from him.” 

“Boyfriend?” Rebekah asks. “Last we spoke you had a _friend_.” There’s a teasing quality to her voice. 

Chloe smiles. Boyfriend is such a strange term for Lucifer. It’s such a human word. It feels weird rolling off her tongue, but it fits, and whenever she says it where he can hear, she can see that he enjoys it. Enjoys it more than his other many titles. Lucifer Morningstar, King of Hell, Prince of Darkness, Boyfriend. 

“You know… things can happen in two weeks.”

“Things definitely can,” Bobby agrees, back to being smitten. 

Rebekah rolls her eyes in Chloe’s direction. “Will your boyfriend be joining you tonight?” 

Her pocket buzzes, and Chloe pulls out her phone. 

“Here,” the message reads. 

“Speak of the Devil,” Chloe says. She stands and turns towards the door. Lucifer’s dark head is visible through the crowd as he looks for her. She waves him over. 

Rebekah’s eyebrows raise as Lucifer strolls towards the table. The crowd parts for him unconsciously, and heads swivel his way. Chloe ignores the jealous looks she gets as he leans down to kiss her hello. 

“Darling, so terribly sorry I was held up. You can blame Mazikeen for that.” He looks positively delighted. “Patrick and I stumbled across her in the wine cellar, and you’ll never guess who’s thighs were wrapped around her head.” 

Chloe smiles, itching to text Maze a gleeful message right away. “Let’s go knife shopping tomorrow.” 

Lucifer takes a seat next to Bobby, who’s managed to tear his attention away from Kayley to gawk at Lucifer like he’s an alien visiting from another planet. Which, now that Chloe thinks about it, isn’t too far off from the truth. 

“Why are we celebrating Eve’s return with knives?” Lucifer asks.

“Think about that question for a moment,” Chloe prompts. 

Lucifer’s brow furrows. “Ah, yes. I take your point.” He takes notice of Bobby and Rebekah. “I know you,” he says, pointing at the professor. “I’ve seen a recording of your lecture. I admire your enthusiasm for the subject, but I’ll have you know your research leaves something to be desired.” 

Rebekah’s eyebrows climb up. 

“Dr. Rebekah Ross,” Chloe interjects. “Meet Lucifer Morningstar.” 

“Charmed,” Lucifer replies. 

“_Lucifer Morningstar_,” Rebekah says, sounding skeptical. Bobby’s eyes are wide. 

“Yes, the Devil himself, although it’s Lucifer _the_ Morningstar if you really want to get technical about it, but society frowns on sobriquets. Beelzebub is one I’ve enjoyed in the past, but Old Scratch is a personal favorite.”

“Is your boyfriend okay?” Rebekah whispers behind her hand to Chloe. 

“More than okay.” Chloe laughs. “I think you’ll enjoy the conversation. ” 

“Yes,” Lucifer says. “It’s always nice to meet a fan, but I have feedback.” 

With a grin, Chloe sits back to enjoy the chaos.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is completely finished, betaed, and ready to go. I'll be posting a chapter a week on Tuesdays. 
> 
> I wish I could claim credit for the haunted picnic table, but it's an actual place in Griffith Park. Rand & Nancy are the supposed ghosts that haunt it. I'm just... a big fan of ghost stories and thought that one was so delightfully bonkers that I had to do something with it. Haunting a picnic table? You do you Rand & Nancy. 
> 
> Massive thank you's to my betas: [ariaadagio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariaadagio) and [Sarahmonious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahmonious). They put up with so much from me. Huge thanks to [Arlome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arlome) and [HiroMyStory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiroMyStory) for their ideas and input. And to everyone at Filii Hircus. Y'all are some good eggs.


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